


chaotically proportional

by orangecoconut



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Catholic Guilt, Child Abuse, Copious Amounts Of Swearing, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Possession, Religious Content, Slow Burn, mentions of domestic abuse, redemption fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-02-15 16:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13035015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangecoconut/pseuds/orangecoconut
Summary: Billy's plan for his 18th birthday is to get the fuck out of Hawkins, Indiana. It's a simple plan, one he's been perfecting for months. And all it takes is a weird little girl standing in the middle of the road to derail his plans completely and drag him into a supernatural hell he never even asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another Billy Redemption fic no one asked for but everyone wants anyway. Warning for this chapter: There's a car accident. No one dies, but I figured I should still let you know. Please enjoy & if you want to leave me kudos or comments that'd be amazing!

It would come as no surprise to anyone that Billy woke up on the day of his eighteenth birthday completely and utterly alone. There was a moment in his post-sleep haze (a blissful place where you aren’t quite sure where you were or what was going on) where he heard a feminine voice outside his door, talking to someone. In that moment, he was back in California, many years younger and snuggled under his covers pretending to be asleep so that his mom could think she surprised him when she woke him up with breakfast in bed. She’d gently shake him awake and he’d open his eyes to the sight of chocolate chip waffles, eggs, and bacon. She’d wish him a Happy Birthday, kiss his forehead, and after he finished eating they’d do something else. Go to the zoo, aquarium, beach, amusement park. Every year it was different, and she never let anything get in the way of it. Not the weather, not school, not Neil. It was a day just for Billy. Just for _them._

But this day wasn’t many years ago, and Billy wasn’t a little kid anymore. He didn’t wake up to the smell of waffles and bacon, or the soft kiss of his mother. That voice was Susan, talking to Neil, who—after the conversation ended—pounded heartily on Billy’s door, his stern voice ordering him awake.

Billy rubbed the memory and sleep from his eyes before getting dressed, pulling on his usual clothes and primping his hair. He stepped out of his room and no one said a thing to him. Susan kissed Max on the forehead in good-bye and Billy ignored the way his stomach twisted at the sight. Then she headed out the door for work. Neil, of course, was already gone.

“Get your shit, brat.” Billy heard himself say, already reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a crumpled pack of smokes. “You’re not going to be late today.” Neil would kill him.

Not that he’d get the chance this time.

“Don’t you mean we?” Max questioned, scooping up her backpack while stuffing an Eggo in her mouth. She had always been too smart or her own good. Luckily, Billy had always been too apathetic for his. So, he shrugged, muttered a _whatever_ and ushered her to the car.

The car ride to school was silent. This was their usual ever since the night she drugged him and almost took a nailed bat to his crotch. Max seemed to want it this way, and Billy found that a part of himself did too. She’d stood up to him. She didn’t take his shit like he took his father’s. There was something in that he respected, as well as something in that he envied.

In the end, his solution to dealing with Neil was running. But Billy had decided that was okay too. Sometimes running was all someone could do.

He pulled up in front of the middle school and snatched Max by her backpack before she could get all the way out. “Have someone take you home today, I won’t make it.”

She looked annoyed, then confused, eyes narrowed on him. He knew the question that was coming, “ _Why_? Where are you going?” She’d always been a nosy brat.

Billy rolled his eyes, “None of your business.”

“Neil’s going to be pissed,” she said, and Billy knew she didn’t mean it _that_ way. That Max, in all her child ignorance and stupidity, didn’t know _shit_ but he still hated her a little for it anyway.

“Neil’s always pissed. Can you get a ride?”

Max waited a moment, thinking, then sniffed and jerked her shoulder, yanking her backpack out of his grasp. “Yeah. Will’s brother can probably give me a ride.” In response, Billy simply nodded and let her go, watching her climb up the steps. She met the other four idiots halfway up, each greeting her with a smile, and then they turned to go inside.

Part of Billy wondered if he should have said something. Maybe told her good-bye or asked her to have a good day. Something else being his last words to her instead of _Can you get a ride?_ But quickly decided that was stupid. It wasn’t like he was going to kill himself, or that Max cared either way. Plus saying anything like _that_ to her would have only made her suspicious. Billy never said good-bye.

So why start now?

Deciding to play it safe, Billy hung out in the parking lot of the high school, waiting for it to clear out before taking back off. No one would think anything of it. Just Billy Hargrove taking advantage of every second before the bell to finish off another cigarette. It was half finished, sitting between two fingers while his arm hung out the window of his Camaro, Van Halen’s _Jump_ pumping through the speakers at a lower volume than Billy usually had it on. Today was not a day Billy wanted people’s attention.

The parking lot was finally empty. Billy thumped his cigarette, placed it back between his lips, and wrapped his fingers around the stick shift. He was about to throw it into reverse when the rumble of another engine stopped him. Across the way, Steve Harrington’s Beamer came skidding to a stope in front of the middle school. This far away he couldn’t make out Harrington, but Billy was able to see what came stumbling out of his car. That weird curly-haired kid with the lisp, what was his name? David? _Whatever._ He was stumbling up the stairs, obviously worried about being late.

He was barely inside before Harrington was making the circle, pulling into a spot in front of the high school that was across from Billy and about five cars down. Billy expected him to hop out and go running into school just as his mini had. Instead, Harrington was just sitting there, hands on the wheel and forehead resting between them. He hadn’t noticed Billy, so he cut off his engine and waited.

Harrington sat there long after the bell had rung, long enough to make Billy wonder if he’d passed out like that. Until he suddenly moved, head lifting and tipping back against the headrest, displaying his long neck and cut chin. Billy watched his chest rise high and fall hard, and then he opened his door, grabbed his backpack, and headed inside.

 _Weird,_ Billy thought before deciding he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t care about Steve Harrington, his problems, or this town. In less than an hour he’d be out of it, heading back to California. Just him, his car, and the duffle bag in the back seat.

Shifting into reverse, Billy peeled out of the parking lot.

\--

He was getting to the edge of Hawkins, passed the Byers’ and waiting for that gorgeous sign: _Leaving Hawkins, Population: Not You._ Van Halen was coming to an end, so Billy reached over to crack open his glove compartment, an annoyed snort sending cigarette smoke out of his nose when half of the damn cassettes came tumbling out, landing on the passenger seat floor. Including what he was looking for: AC/DC. He glanced up once to make sure the road was clear and then bent down, reaching out to rifle through until he found it.

Billy sat back up with a triumphant sound, AC/DC’s _Back in Black_ clutched in scarred knuckles.

The celebration was short lived.

Blue eyes didn’t meet the road, but—the face of a little girl? _Shit!_

Reflex had him jerking, throwing the wheel to the right in an effort not to hit her. It sent him careening off the road, only coming to a stop when he collided, front end first, into a giant oak. Everything got blurry after that. The seat belt saved him, but Billy still smashed his face against the steering wheel seconds before the air bag exploded and shoved him back into the seat.  His cigarette fell, landing somewhere in his lap, but the slight burning feeling did nothing to keep him from fading into unconscious territory.

Somewhere to the left he thought he heard the driver side door opening. His eyesight was blurry (was that blood?) but he could make out wide, hazel eyes and curly brunette hair. Then two tiny pale hands were fisting him by his jean jacket and… tugging him out?

He remembered thinking _How_ and _She’s so small, how._ He remembered feeling the cold, wet grass against his back. Remembered those big eyes staring down at him. Remembered her saying something, but not what it was. He remembered that she was pretty, but in a way, that put a fear in him only being raised Catholic could. Was she an angel? Was he dead? She looked like an angel.

And then he remembered nothing, just black.

\--

When Billy woke up it was to a major headache, heavy limbs, and the smell of anti-septic. He knew the smell, the _feeling_ , all too well and found himself groaning, lifting a hand to cover his eyes and block out the fluorescents. The moment his arm (bandaged, he noted after) touched his face pain shot through him, leaving Billy with a swear on his tongue and his arm dropping back onto the mattress.

“Ah, you’re awake I see.”

His eyes were finally getting used to the light, and Billy could make out soft brown curls. He remembered the little girl then. The angel. And for a moment he thought it was her, but then his eyes got their shit together, and no—definitely not his angel. Not unless she aged fifty years and got fat. Eyes narrowed, Billy asked a stupid question, “Where am I?”

“Hawkins Medical.” She said, with a tone that said she’s probably gone through this kind of conversation before. “You were found on the side of the main road. Car accident.” _Fuck,_ Billy thought. His fucking car. It didn’t occur to him he said that out loud until she gave him a stern look and shook her head. “Don’t worry about your car, son, worry about yourself. You have a concussion, fractured ribs, and a broken nose. The doctor was able to set it but—“

Billy just interrupted her with a very self-pitying groan.

She ignored him, “The paramedics were lucky you had your ID on you. We called your father, he’s outside talking to Sheriff Hopper—“

_We called your father._

Billy may have laughed, he wasn’t sure. He thought he did though because when he looked back at her, she was frowning. She probably thought the concussion made him lose his mind, but he didn’t care. He was dead. _No,_ he wished he was dead. The accident didn’t kill him, but his old man would. _Christ._

He hadn’t realized she’d left until a masculine voice replaced her, and there was a short, terrifying moment where he thought it was Neil until he looked over and—no—it was that cop that hauled him home after he woke up on the Byers’ living room floor. _Hopper._ He was frowning. Billy mimicked him. “Feel up to telling me what you remember, kid?” He asked, voice gruff.

“Sure, whatever.” The quicker he got this over with the better. Now that he knew his father knew it was all Billy could think about it. _I’m so fucking dead._ “I don’t remember shit except for the stupid deer in the road.” He lied and Hopper sighed. “Concussion and all.”

“Nothing?” He asked. “You were passed out when I found you. Did you pull yourself out of your car?”

Billy frowned, “ _You_ found me?” What the hell was a Hawkins cop doing that far out? Was he looking for that little girl? Should Billy mention her? _No._ He wasn’t stupid. Who was going to believe that some tiny little girl who may or may not be an angel pulled him out of his car? A hallucination brought on by impact, that’s all it was.

“Yeah. I was following up on a speeding complaint.” Billy didn’t remember speeding, but then again, he had been rearing to get the fuck out of Hawkins, so maybe he did. “You really don’t remember anything?” He asked again and Billy wanted to snap at him.  Why the fuck did he care so much?

“ _I’m sure_ ,” he hissed, shutting his eyes. Hopper grunted and turned to leave, Billy opened his eyes and called out, “Wait—“ Hopper stopped, turned back, eyebrows raised expectantly, and Billy wondered why he called out. No, he knew why. _Don’t let my old man in here,_ he wanted to say. Instead he just said, “Turn the lights off, man, they’re killing me.”

Surprisingly, Hopper complied.

\--

Believe it or not there was something worse than Billy’s father’s fists colliding with his face. The scariest thing about his father was, without a doubt, his silence. That’s when Billy knew he really fucked up. Neil would get terrifyingly calm, dark eyes on Billy like he was sizing him up, like he was deciding what he would do to him when the time came. It was the waiting that killed him, it was always the waiting. Because Billy knew punishment was coming. It _always_ came. It was just a matter of when.

In the hospital Neil did nothing, and said nothing. He knew better. He was smarter than that. He sat across the room and read the newspaper until it was time to go home, then left Billy alone. He was grateful for it. He didn’t care that no one came to visit. Not Susan, not Max, not even fucking Tommy H. and his girlfriend. For two days, he was alone and he _loved_ it. He loved the shitty cafeteria food and itchy hospital bedding.

He didn’t love the way the nurses looked at him, though. Pity on their faces for a boy whose father didn’t even bother to come back until the day he was supposed to go home. _Don’t pity me,_ Billy wanted to say, _this is the best it’s gonna’ get._

 _When_ came two days later. Not that long in reality, but it felt like years in Billy’s mind.

He came home and Susan and Max weren’t there. That was the first warning sign. The second came when his father spoke up before he even got to his bedroom door. “Come sit,” he said, gesturing to the kitchen table. His tone was even, but firm. No room for argument.

Billy followed instruction. He sat down, hands in his lap, and waited.

It took Neil approximately three minutes to speak. Billy counted.

“Where were you going, Billy?” It was a trap of a question, they both knew it. Neil wasn’t stupid, he knew where Billy was going, but he wanted him to say it. If he said it, he was admitting to guilt and would get punished. If he didn’t say it, he was lying, and would get punished. It was a lose-lose, but then again, it was always a lose-lose where Billy’s father was concerned.

“Out of town.” He said, wetting his lips. Billy chose to go with a half-truth, half-lie on in last-ditch effort to _maybe_ save himself some pain. “It was my birthday so… I was going to skip school—just for that day—and go to the city. Just chill, maybe shop.”

“With a duffle bag full of clothes?”

 _Ah._ He’s an idiot. Such a fucking idiot.

Billy swallowed, opened his mouth to back pedal, but Neil wasn’t having it. He held up his hand to silence him, “After everything… after _everything_ I’ve done for you, you were just running away.” The anger seeped in at the end and Billy wanted to argue. He wanted to ask _what_ was it that Neil thought he had done for him, but he knew better. It would only make this worse. His ribs ached, his nose hurt, and there was a stinging burn on his thigh from where his fucking cigarette burned through his jeans.

“I wasn’t, I—“

“Stop lying!”

Fists slammed onto the table, Susan’s butter dish launched upwards and came back down right onto the linoleum floor, shattering. “Look what you did, Billy…” Neil sighed. “You just ruin everything. You always ruin everything.” Well. Billy couldn’t really argue with that one.

That was when Neil grabbed his face, one rough hand holding his jaw in a tight grip to force Billy to look at him. “You ruined your car, and I’m not paying for it, you hear me? You want it fixed, you fix it yourself. Until then Susan will take Max to school in the mornings and you? You’ll find some other way.” He squeezed harder and Billy couldn’t help but flinch, the pressure he was putting on the bruises on his face causing pain to shoot through his skin.

“And you’re grounded,” he went on. “Two months. No going out with your shitty friends, no dates with any of your whores, _none of it._ Got me?”

“Yes sir.”  
  
“What was that?”

Billy took a deep breath through his nose and didn’t dare drop his gaze from his father’s, “ _Yes sir_.” He reiterated, voice firm. Neil nodded in response and let go, shoving him off the chair.

“Clean that up—“he said, gesturing to the broken dish. “—then go to your room. You’ll apologize to Susan tonight for breaking it.”

And to think, Billy had been so close to being _free_ of all this.

Suddenly, Billy hated whoever that curly-haired angel was that dragged him out of his car. She didn’t seem like an angel anymore, but more like a jinx. A god damn demon sent to make sure he stayed _here._ He hated her. He hated her, his father, this fucking town. Billy just _hated_.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy looks for an angel. Steve just wants to eat some pie in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for all the nice comments <3 I haven't written fanfic in several years so I've been super nervous about doing this, and every comment I get makes me feel a little more confident! No trigger warnings for this chapter! :)

It was three more days before he could go back to school. School was a fucking nightmare, but Billy considered it a blessing over being at home, voluntarily locked in his bedroom to avoid his father. Hawkins is a small town, word traveled fast, and it wasn’t long before the entire school knew Billy Hargrove was in a car accident. They don’t know why, or how, but they do know it happened. There were some rumors, Billy’s favorite being that he was driving drunk. He didn’t bother correcting any of them, didn’t _care_ enough to. It didn’t hurt anything. The girls now cooed over him at lunch, asking if his nose would _be okay_ and how his ribs felt. The attention was nice in a shallow kind of way.

However, this meant he had to take it easy at practice, and the _last thing_ Billy wanted was to take it fucking easy. Coach had forced him on the bench up until the moment Billy could no longer take watching his replacement, Luke Miller, lose the fucking ball for the fifth time in a row. Then Billy was out there, shoving Luke towards the bench and taking over, ignoring the ache in his side every time he moved wrong.

He wasn’t as aggressive, didn’t go around shoving everyone, didn’t go around shoving _Harrington_ like he usually did, but he was sweaty and tired by the end of it and that was all that mattered. He stood under the hot spray of the shower longer than he needed to. Usually, when Billy had bruises this bad he’d wait, let himself get caught up talking to Tommy or some other idiot so that the shower was mostly empty when he went to wash off. But these bruises weren't the kind to be ashamed of. They were given to him by a wreck and not his father’s hands. So, he stood under the spray almost proudly, ignoring the sets of eyes that’d briefly move over him.

Except for one.

“Take a picture, Harrington.” He tossed back, tilting his head to the side, and yeah, his shot in the dark hadn’t been wrong. Steve was looking at the dark purple and yellow bruising on his side. His nose wrinkled when he was caught and he focused his eyes back on the shower, but not before speaking.

“You look like shit.”

Billy grinned under the spray, but it wasn’t a friendly grin. His fingers itched. “Almost as bad as you did.” He replied and the _when_ didn’t need to be said. It was enough. He heard Harrington smack the faucet off and walk out. Then Billy was alone and he could relax his shoulders and close his eyes without worrying about someone coming up behind him and seeing him vulnerable.

He stayed in there longer than he needed to, but with no Max to take home he hadn’t seen a reason to hurry up. If his showers lasted passed five minutes at home his dad would yell at him. Here? Here he could sit under the hot water all fucking day as long as he was out before the janitor came in.

He didn’t. Eventually his fingers got too wrinkled and the heat was starting to get to him, so he stepped out, dried off, got dressed and headed outside.

The parking lot was empty and the sudden cold breeze was a stark contrast to his hot skin, making a chill run down his back. Billy realized he had to walk home. He’d made Tommy give him a ride here, but Tommy was long gone and Billy was out of options. With a sigh, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket and headed that way, digging out a cigarette about a mile in. He didn’t want to go home. He knew he had to, just didn’t want to. Technically speaking Neil wouldn’t be home until six so Billy could hypothetically get away with being late, especially if he explained he had to walk the whole way. Max wouldn’t sell him out. She hated him, but she wasn’t a rat.

Well, not anymore. She knew better now.

In the end, Billy kept walking. He was through three cigarettes and itching for another by the time he realized he’d long since passed the road to his house. Instead, he was now closer to Byers’, closer to _his_ wreck site. There was no reason to go there, his car had been impounded (and he could only pick it up when he had the money to), but he still found himself wandering toward it, deciding to cut through the woods instead of following the road.

Billy was about a half a mile in when he realized he had no idea where he was. _Nice going, idiot._ He considered turning around, heading back and chalk this entire walk up to just another one of his asinine choices. He pulled out another cigarette, bending a bit to escape the wind, cupping a hand over it while he lit the end and breathed in a lung full of smoke.

Then he heard a twig snap.

Billy jerked around, afraid for a reason he wasn’t sure. Was he scared his dad was somehow going to be there? Or was it just because he was in some creepy old forest in the middle of god damn nowhere?

It wasn’t his dad. It was the angel.

Except she looked less angelic without the concussion and the wool hat pulled down tightly over her curls. She was wearing a jacket a couple sizes too big and was watching him with eyes that made him uncomfortable. “ _You,_ ” was all he said, and Billy felt his fingers twitch at his side. He didn’t move, just stared.

“Me.” She answered, and her voice was soft, soft like what he’d expect from an angel. Maybe she was one after all. “Are you… okay?” She asked slow, as if she wasn’t sure she should be asking.

Billy wanted to laugh. What a stupid question. Instead he shrugged, too confused and thrown off by the situation to get an attitude with her just yet. Why was she out here? Why had she been on the road? Was she some weird fucking forest child? Holy shit, maybe she really w _as_ an angel. Or—and this was the more likely scenario-- he was just going crazy like his mom.

He shrugged, “Nose hurts like a bitch when I sneeze, and I can’t bend over, but I’m good.”

Her face crinkled and he wondered if it was because he swore or because he lied. Angels didn’t like either.

“I’m sorry.” She offered, and _Yeah,_ Billy thought, _you should be fucking sorry._

“What were you doing in the middle of the road?” He asked instead, an accusatory tone in his voice.

She shook her head, “Can’t say.”

“Why?”

“Promised.”

Ugh.

“You made me fuck up my car, the _least_ I deserve is an explanation.”

She frowned at that, “Your car.” She repeated, then, “Pretty.”

That time, Billy did laugh and it was completely bitter. “Yeah, not so much anymore. The tree did a real number on her and I can’t afford to fix her.” Why’d he tell a little kid that? He didn’t fucking know. This entire situation was a fucking episode and he couldn’t seem to get his baring’s.

“Her?”

Did this kid _ever_ say more than a few words? “ _Yeah,_ her. Most people call cars Her.”

“Why?” _Jesus Christ._

“Look kid, I’m not here to teach you about car pronouns or some shit. People just _do._ “

She seemed unsatisfied by his answer, but didn’t repeat the question. Instead she asked, “Why are you out here?” And, honestly, Billy had no good answer for that.

“Looking for you.” It wasn’t a total lie. “Thought I dreamed you.”

Again, her nose wrinkled. It made her look younger. How old was she? “You did not.” He wanted to say _yeah, obviously_ but he didn’t get the chance. “How much?”

“How much what?”

“Your car. How much to fix... her?”

Billy licked his lips and cocked a hip, eyebrows shooting upwards at the question. She asked it so seriously, so _sincerely_ that he couldn’t even laugh at her. Why was this kid so fucking weird? “Few hundred probably.” That made her frown.

Then she started digging into her pockets and eventually pulled out a couple crumpled bills, holding them out toward him. “Allowance.” She said, and okay, angels probably didn’t get allowance but he still wasn’t convinced she was human. “You can have it.”

It didn’t look to be more than ten bucks. Still, Billy shrugged and reached for it.

It’d buy him a couple packs of smokes, and _besides,_ she did owe him.

“Thanks.” He muttered, shoving the money into his pants pocket. “You got a name or something?”

For a moment, she seemed unsure if she should tell him. _Stranger Danger,_ maybe. Until, “Jane.” _Jane._ Huh. That wasn’t exactly a biblical name, but what’d he expect? For her to be named Mary or some shit?

“Billy.” He supplied and she nodded before repeating him, _Billy,_ like she was committing it to memory. “You… have a home, right? If I leave I’m not gonna’ wake up to some dead kid on the news, am I?” Not that he cared, but he didn’t need to add more to the shit pile of guilt he already had lodge in his stomach on a daily basis.

“Yes. I have a home.”

“Good.” He paused, “I’m leaving now?” And Billy had no idea why he shaped it as a question, but he did, and Jane nodded like she was okay with that. Like she was giving him permission he didn’t need. So, feeling like he’d just stepped into the fucking Twilight Zone, Billy turned on his heel and headed back out of the stupid creepy forest and away from the strange maybe-angel little girl.

\--

When Billy arrived home both Susan and Neil’s cars were in the driveway, sending ice cold dread down his spine. _God dammit._ He thought he had more time. It was only five, and neither of them got home until six. He stayed outside to finish his cigarette, wanting to put off the encounter as long as possible.

When he finally headed inside, Susan and Neil were on the couch, looking somewhat dressed up. Billy barely had his foot through the door when his dad asked, “Where have you been?”

“I was—“

“Doesn’t matter.” Neil decided, moving to get up. Billy instinctively backed up, his shoulders nudging the wood of the front door behind him. Surprisingly, however, Neil didn’t approach him. “I surprised Susan with a date night.” He said, and off to the side Susan smiled. It made Billy’s stomach turned. “You’ll use her car to pick Max up from the Wheeler’s. And son—“ his voice lowered a pitch and Billy took a breath, “—you will go no where else, do you understand me? I know what level her gas is at and I’ll know if you do. You will sit there, you will wait, and you will come straight home. Got it?”

“Yes sir.”

Neil nodded and gestured for Susan to come. She answered obediently, grabbing up her purse before moving to follow him out, the soft _Thanks_ on her lips directed toward Billy as she went. He ignored it. The door closed, Billy took a breath, and rested his forehead against it, shutting his eyes for a moment.

It wasn’t until after his father and Susan had pulled out of the driveway that Billy realized he hadn’t been told _what time_ to go get her. Son of a bitch.

His options were to wait and just hope he picked the right time, or go now. If he went now he could be too early, _but_ he could stop for cigarettes before they closed. A short stop like that wouldn’t make a difference in the gas, right? Probably not.

So, Billy chose the latter option, taking Susan’s keys off the wall before heading for the Wheeler’s.

\--

The Wheeler house was one of the nicest ones in the neighborhood, and dwarfed Billy’s by several yards. It was nice in the way that made you hate them for everything they had. Or at least, it made Billy did. Neil complained about them constantly, but still offered the sweetest of smiles when he ran into them in the store or at the movies.

Billy had a much-too-similar smile on his face when he knocked on the door, leaning one arm on the door frame before it opened. Of course, it was Mrs. Wheeler who answered since her husband was easily one of the most useless men to ever exist, and at the sight of him she smiled small and bashful. Part of Billy wondered if he really could seduce her. If she’d actually let him fuck her. Would she ruin her marriage for that? For one night with a man half her age? He hated how curious that made him. How tempted he was to find out. 

He dragged his tongue along his bottom lip and she said, _Come in._

Mrs. Wheeler led him toward the kitchen, “You’re early too.” She said, voice warm. “I wish Mike was half as responsible as the two of you.” The two of—Oh.

_Harrington._

He was sat at the counter munching on a piece of pie, and when their eyes met Steve’s fork stopped just before his mouth. Behind Mrs. Wheeler Billy smirked and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Harrington recovered after a moment, “Don’t sweat it, Mrs. Wheeler,” he said, and Billy wondered if she hadn’t let Steve be on a first-name basis with her like she had with Billy. “He’s thirteen. I never got anywhere on time at thirteen.” Over her shoulder, their gazes met.

“Me either,” Billy supplied cordially.

Mrs. Wheeler said something in reply, but Billy wasn’t paying much attention, moving to lean against the counter and across from Steve. Somewhere to his right she said _eat as much as you like_ but Billy didn’t do anything until she left. Then he reached out, took Steve’s fork from his plate and scooped up a helping of apple pie, grinning over the scowl Steve shot him as he lifted it to his lips.

Fucking with him was too easy.

“That’s disgusting.” Steve said as Billy licked a piece of crust from his upper lip. “If you want your own slice, get it—“

“Didn’t want my own slice, pretty boy.” Billy replied easily, reaching out for another bite. Steve yanked the plate away before Billy could get some, and he raised an eyebrow, lifting his gaze to meet big brown eyes. They looked challenging.

_Alright._

Billy’s hand shot out, aiming for the plate again, but Steve was faster, moving the plate just in time so that the fork slammed into the marble counter top. He had good reflexes, Billy had noticed that the night he kicked his ass. This only made Billy’s grin widen, showing off white teeth.

He moved again, Steve dodged again. He moved for a fourth time, Steve dodged for a fourth time. On the fifth try, Billy aimed for the plate like he always did, but when Steve tried to yank the plate out of his target area, he reached out with his other hand, fingers wrapping tight around Steve’s forearm to stop him. The fork sank into the crisp crust and Steve _glowered_ at him. “You’re such a fucking cheat,” he hissed as Billy brought the bite of pie to his lips with a winning smile.

Billy decided he liked it when he made the other boy swear. It was almost as good as riling him up.

“Winning is winning,” he simply replied and licked the fork clean.

Steve watched him while he did it, eyes on Billy's lips, and it made his stomach clench. He was watching the fork, Billy knew, probably disgusted with this entire situation. He repeated that several times in his head while he sucked crust and apple off the utensil. 

Then, Billy removed the fork—now clean (if that’s what you can call it)—and held it back out, gesturing to the pie. “Left you the last bite.” He said, a sickly sweet tone to his voice that would make girls squirm but only made Steve’s eyes narrow.

It was another challenge and they both knew it.

To Billy’s complete surprise, Steve reached out and took the fork before gathering pie crust and apple goo on top of it. He lifted it and met Billy’s gaze. Billy, interested, wondering if Steve _would,_ was no longer smiling. Steve brought the fork closer to his mouth, parted his lips, and—

“Steve!”

The fork dropped onto the plate with a _clang_ , and the hand Billy hadn’t realized was still gripping Steve’s forearm fell too. The two teenagers turned to face the kids who had finally emerged from the basement. It had been the lisp-y one who spoke. It became apparent none of them had been aware of the weird, unexplainable challenge that’d just been going on. “You’re _early_ ,” he complained instead.

“Yeah, ‘cause I have studying to do and your mom said six and you told me seven.”

Caught, a flash of fake shame colored his face and Billy had to hold back his snort, eyes shifting to Max instead who was lingering toward the back, very purposely _not_ near Sinclair. She'd made her point that night, and Billy had backed off, but she knew better than to rub it right in his face. “Let’s go, Max.” He said, pushing off the counter while Harrington and Henderson bickered.

“Where’s my—“

“Susan’s on a date with Neil,” he replied simply, already heading for the door. “He told me to get you _now_ so that’s what I’m doing. Speed it up, brat.” It wasn’t a total lie. Neil hadn’t specified a time, and Billy didn’t want to stick around anymore. He had enough of Perfect Steve Harrington being disgusted with him for one day. 

He knew Max was scowling behind him, didn’t have to turn around to _feel_ her glare, but nevertheless she followed, giving her good-byes to the boys before chasing Billy out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. sorry if this chapter was a little slow or boring. i wasn't lying when i said it was slow burn lol i just think that a lot more is important to billy's personal redemption than Just steve, ya know?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane breaks the rules. Billy makes a new friend. All hell breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm so overjoyed by all the sweet comments you guys have been leaving me, and I've been making sure to reply to each and every one. I haven't written is so long, you have no idea what a confidence booster it is to read all of your excitement. <3
> 
> Mentions of child abuse this chapter, and the use of the f-slur.

It took a week after meeting Billy in the woods for Eleven to come to a decision. She hadn’t felt satisfied over giving him what measly allowance she made, and while she had another five dollars by the end of the week she had a feeling that wouldn’t cut it. So, she waited for the right moment to talk to Hopper, practicing her speech when she was home alone, figuring that _maybe_ if she was convincing enough he’d be a little lenient on the rules. He had gotten more relaxed on them since November, letting her have a sleepover with her friends every other weekend at the cabin, or at Will’s house. She preferred Will’s house, too. It was bigger and usually Jonathan and Nancy would be there, and Steve too sometimes.

It was nice, having all her friends around, and they all really were her friends. At least, she thought so.

Billy wasn’t her friend. Yet. But because of her he got hurt, and it was her job to make it right.

“Jim.” She said, halfway through Saturday morning breakfast and on her third Eggo. Jim responded with a hum from behind his coffee cup, lifting his eyes from his newspaper to give her his full attention. She liked that. When Jim looked at her it was like he was actually seeing _her,_ Jane, and not Eleven. Not like Papa.

“I want to help Billy.” She said, and—yeah—Jim frowned. She knew he would.

“How do you know—whatever. I’m sorry, kid, but we don’t have the money to— “

“I know.” She shook her head. That wasn’t what she meant. “Make it up to him. Let me help somehow.” Admittedly, in her week of thinking she hadn’t come up with a specific way to help, but she was sure she could think of something. Once, Joyce said there was always a way to help people, you just had to keep trying until you figured out what worked.

Jim folded his newspaper closed and that was when Eleven knew she had lost. She braced herself for the rejection, leaning back in her chair with a premeditated pout. “He can’t… someone like him can’t know who you are.” Jim, of course, didn’t know Eleven had tracked Billy down in the woods. He would _not_ be happy to find out she’d used her powers to do that.

“Someone like him?”

“He’s not… He has some issues is all. Anger issues.”

“I have anger issues,” she argued. That’s what Lucas told her once. Mike had smacked him in the arm. “So do you.” She thought Max did too, but couldn’t confirm that one.

“It’s not the same.” Jim rubbed his chin. It was a nervous gesture. “I’m sorry, kid. He’s just not someone we can trust, right now. He’s going to be okay, and he’ll get his car fixed. But we have to think about _you_ and your safety.” Eleven wanted to say _Screw my safety_ but last time she said Screw, Jim said no Eggos for a week.

She didn’t understand his obsession with her safety. She had powers, she could protect herself.

But, to Jim’s surprise, Eleven didn’t argue. She just sighed, pouted, and poked around at her syrup soaked Eggos until it was time for him to go to work. Of course, unbeknownst to Jim, Eleven had made up her mind. She wasn’t going to let her own safety get in the way of doing what was right.

She waited until the sound of his heavy footsteps crunching snow faded off before getting up. She tossed her plate in the sink, grabbed the dish rag off the table and went to sit in front of the TV, turning the station to static.

Then, Eleven wrapped the rag around her head like a blindfold, closed her eyes, and focused on the image of Billy.

\--

Almost an entire week after meeting his weird maybe-angel in the woods, Billy had finally scrounged up enough money to get his car out of the impound lot and buy a couple parts. It wasn’t enough to fix the outside damage, not yet, but he could get the engine and all her necessary parts going. Make it so she could _run_ at the very least, and he needed that. Needed a safety blanket in the back of his mind to draw comfort from whenever shit at home got too real.

He couldn’t try and run again just yet— Neil would be watching too closely for a while now-- but being able to _drive_ was better than nothing.

It was noon on a Saturday when Billy headed outside to the driveway where his car was parked, tools under one arm, and the parts under the other. He dropped the former carelessly onto the pavement, set the latter down a bit more gently, and pulled out a cigarette. He was dressed in some of his rattier clothes, a white tank top with a couple holes in different seams, his oldest pair of worn jeans with holes of their own, and his boots. Working on cars got messy, and Billy didn’t have many clothes to begin with so he wasn’t going to chance messing anything _good_ up.

About an hour into it, he was bent over the hood, trying to reach something when the sudden feeling of being watched caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. Billy jerked upwards in response, very nearly banging his head on the hood on the way out. He twisted around with a swear, ready to get into the face of whoever it was, until— “Jane?”

There she stood, dressed in overalls, a white shirt, sneakers, and a lighter jacket. There was no hat to hide the curls that sat so proudly on her head, catching the sun in a way that made the edges gleam gold. She was looking at him with those eerie eyes, and while her smile was a sweet one it did little to quail the uneasiness under his skin at her sudden appearance. Why was he still running into this girl? Was she following him? It was really hard _not_ to think she was some heavenly being when she just kept popping up like this.

“Billy,” she replied in greeting while Billy seemed to find his motor skills long enough to pull a rag from his back pocket and wipe the grease from his hands. “I came to help.”

_Huh._

No doubt looking a little skeptical, Billy asked, “You know anything about cars?”

Jane shook her head and brown curls swayed back and forth with the movement. “No.” That was the answer he figured he’d get, but then she added, “But I’m a good learner.” For some reason, he didn’t doubt that. She was just one of those kids that _looked_ smart. Maybe it was her unnerving eyes.

“Uhuh.” His tone was a bit dismissive, and Billy glanced around trying to spot someone that she maybe belonged to. The street was empty, however, save for the bike leaning against the sidewalk. “That how you got here?” She nodded. “You got a parent somewhere I need to worry about thinking I kidnapped their kid?”

Jane shook her head, “No. He knows.” If she was lying, he couldn’t tell. She said everything so impassively that it was impossible to get a good read on her. It was hard to imagine a father or mother that’d just be _okay_ with their kid running off to help some random guy with his car, but—whatever. He could actually have a use for her.

“Alright,” Billy relented and gestured to the car, shoving his grease rag back into his pocket. “Take off your jacket and get over here.” With a bounce in her step, Jane tossed her jacket on the ground before joining him at his side. Billy leaned into the hood and she mimicked his movement. “See that—“ he pointed past some wires and Jane leaned in closer.

“That--?”

“Yeah, that. I’m going to push these wires out of your way—don’t touch them—and you’re going to reach in, unscrew it, and give it to me. My hands are too big to get a grip.” In all honesty, he could do it by himself, but she wanted to be helpful, and it was just less he’d have to do. It was a win-win.

Jane nodded, an odd look of determination on her face that Billy shook his head at before he reached out, making room for her much smaller, paler hand. She reached in with ease, and was pulling her hand back out in seconds, handing her win over to Billy. He tossed it, grabbed a new one, and handed it back to her. “Now the same thing, but different. Get it?”

Another nod, “Same, but different.” And she did it. Again, it wasn’t hard work, but Billy wasn’t about to give the hard work to a, what, twelve-year-old? All he needed was for her to hurt herself and then have this dad of hers --who may or may not have agreed to this -- kill him.

When she was done, Jane offered him a smile and he realized she was proud of herself. He wanted to say _What’s there to be proud about? A monkey could have done that_ but kept his mouth shut, rolling his eyes instead. “You _really_ wanna’ help?” He asked, and she nodded again. “Okay, well, you gotta’ actually know what shit is to help so, c’mere.”

As it turned out, not only did Jane know _shit_ about cars, but she didn’t even know what the tools were. So, they ended up crouched over the tool box for longer than he’d ever admit, Billy pulling out tool after tool, telling her what it was, and its purpose. Then they moved back to the car to do the same, and not _once_ did Jane seem bored. She listened, made sure to keep her _complete_ attention on him, and when he tossed her a few quiz questions just to be an ass she got them right.

It was… impressive to say the least. She hadn’t lied when she said she was a good learner, and Billy hadn’t been wrong when he figured her to be smart.

By the time they took a break, Billy wasn’t sure how many hours had passed, only that his throat was dry and his stomach was growling. He was covered in grease from his elbows to his hands, his shirt looking just as bad, if not worse, and Jane wasn’t much better off. She had a couple grease stains on her face, her curls were sticking to her forehead a little, and her overalls were just about ruined. But she was smiling, happy and bright and always at Billy. He couldn’t remember the last time someone smiled at him like that: freely, with no fear or distain resting behind it.

“You hungry?” He asked, setting his wrench to the side to wipe off his hands, tossing the rag toward Jane when he was done so she could do the same. “Thirsty?” She nodded enthusiastically, so Billy got up and headed for the door, “Gimme’ a minute.”

The house was empty. Susan and Neil had gone out for the day, and Max was at someone’s house (he hadn’t cared to find out _who_ ). This was the only time Billy could bare his house, when it was completely empty of everyone save himself. It was quiet, and while Billy _hated_ quiet, he did like going around corners without fear of running into his father.

He returned about ten minutes later, a soda for Jane, and a beer for himself, and ham sandwiches for each of them. Jane had climbed up and was sitting on the trunk of his Camaro, and for the first time in a long time Billy bit back the desire to snap at her to _Get off._ Instead, he held out her plate, she took it with a soft _thank you_ , and he climbed on to the trunk with her. He pretended not to notice how she sniffed the sandwich before taking a bite.

At this point, Billy knew Jane was a fucking weird ass kid, and he still wasn’t completely convinced she was human, _but_ she was nice and genuine and not all that annoying to hang around, so he didn’t dwell on it. Whatever, whoever she was, she was alright with him.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, until Billy realized she was watching him. “Can I help you?” He asked, watching the way she was bent over her sandwich like she was trying to protect it. As if realizing this herself, Jane straightened up in an attempt to look more relaxed. Then she gestured to his beer. “You wouldn’t like it, kids never do.”

Jane wrinkled her nose and then reached out expectantly, “Let me try it.”

He wasn’t her dad. Shit, he wasn’t even a good step-brother, and while Billy _knew_ the adult thing to do was to not let the twelve-year-old try beer, he found himself holding it out anyway, much more interested in watching her gag than being responsible.

And gag she did. Jane’s face screwed up as soon as she took a sip, coughing seconds later before rubbing the back of her hand over her mouth. She quickly chased the bitter taste of beer with a swig from her soda, then looked at him. “That’s disgusting, Billy.” But Billy was laughing, loud and not at all that attractive. He’d been mid-chew when she’d taken her sip, and now he was trying not to choke, shoulders shaking as he worked his way through the ham sandwich and the fit of laughter.

By the time he sobered up, Jane was smiling at him, and he almost felt embarrassed. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed like that. Real, and loud, and _ugly._ He reached out to take the beer back, still coughing a little. “Damn right it is.” He said, taking a generous swig to dislodge ham and bread from his throat. “Used to hate it when I first started drinking.”

Now, she was frowning, but it was one of her curious frowns. “Why drink it if it’s disgusting?”

Billy shrugged, “I dunno’. It’s just… what you do in high school. You drink.” It wasn’t the best explanation, but Jane seemed satisfied enough, nursing her soda quietly.

Just like last time, the silence that settled between them was comfortable, and that was rarity for Billy nowadays. Usually a lull in conversation made him anxious, made his leg bounce, and his fingers itch for a cigarette. Today, however, he was fine. Sitting with Jane was easy, even when neither of them spoke, and for a moment it reminded him of California, and the friends he left behind there. With them, Billy could sit in silence for hours, eyes closed, listening to music rumbling around them. Sometimes they were high, sometimes they were drunk, sometimes they were both, and sometimes they were neither, but no matter their state of mind Billy had always been comfortable.

It was now, right here experiencing that feeling with Jane, that Billy realized just how much he fucking missed it.

“You have friends?” He asked suddenly, and Jane’s head popped back up to look at him. Then she smiled again, one of those soft smiles, and nodded. “A lot of them?” She nodded again. “Good.” He inclined his head, absently dragging blunt, bitten-off nails over the aluminum can in his hands. “Every kid needs a good group of friends.” Even Max, his brain supplied oddly, and Billy had to refrain from frowning at the thought, finishing off his beer in an attempt to dislodge the heavy weight in his throat.

“Do you have friends?”

There was a startled expression when he looked up that Jane didn’t miss, and Billy considered lying before, “I did. In California.”

“California?”

“Yeah it’s… far away from here. Miles and miles. That’s where I was born.”

That thoughtful expression was back on her face, and Billy still couldn’t get over how expressive she could be. Her voice was soft, often impassive, but her face never was. She wore all her feelings on her sleeve. The freedom she had to do so was enviable. “Miles and miles,” she repeated. “You miss it?”

“Yes.” The answer came immediately, no thought needed.

“Then… why are you here?”

Billy shrugged, setting his plate on the ground before leaning back against the car. “Wasn’t my choice. My old man forced me to move here with him.”

“Old man?”

“My dad.”

“Oh.” She frowned, took another bite of her sandwich, and added. “What is it like? California?”

Billy found himself smiling at the question, tucking his arms underneath his head. “Gorgeous,” he started. “The people, the weather, the beaches, _everything._ There’s nothing like it.” Hawkins didn’t even come close. It wasn’t even a _fraction_ of California. Not even in the running.

“Beaches?”

He glanced over at her, eyebrows raised, “You know. Where the sand meets the ocean?” And even though she nodded, something told him that she didn’t know. What kid didn’t know what beaches were? Maybe she was homeschooled (poorly homeschooled). “Our planet is mostly water,” he found himself explaining. “With us living on the land masses that it surrounds. Sometimes, the places where the ocean meets the land mass make a beach. Families go there to swim, and play. Shit like that.”

He felt stupid for having to explain it, but Jane seemed to understand better after and smiled, “Pretty.”

“Very.”

“Why … did he make you leave?”

And _that_ was a fucking loaded question. Jane, of course, had no idea why. For her it was a natural question to come to. She was innocent enough, kind enough to find it unfathomable for a father to take his son away from the one place he loved. None of his answers were appropriate either. _He did it to get back at me for being a fucking fag_ wouldn’t work. Shit, she probably didn’t even know what fag meant (she didn’t know what a beach was for Christ’ sake) and Billy _definitely_ didn’t want to explain that to a kid. He also didn’t want to _come out_ to a kid.

He ended up settling on a partial-truth, snorting before he said, “My comfort and happiness isn’t exactly a priority for him.” Neil said it was. _I’m doing this for you, Billy, you understand that don’t you?_ But it was bullshit. He believed him once, when he was a kid and stupid. Billy convinced himself that his father loved him, that he really w _as_ trying to make him better.

Needless to say, Billy got over that.

Jane’s eyebrows pulled together, but she said nothing else, and for a minute Billy figured he’d said too much, got a little too _honest_ with her. There were a lot of reasons he kept his shit stamped down, and this was one of them. He hated sharing, hated seeing people’s reactions (pity), hated— “Mama?”

He blinked, “What?”

“Mama,” she repeated, “What about her?” _Oh._

Somehow, that question was even worse than the last.

“Dead.” He said bluntly. “Buried back in Cali. She was a good lady, not an ass like my old man. Had curly hair like you.” And like him, but her curls were better, thicker like Jane’s. The last part made her smile a little, a small hand reaching up to tug on a curl absentmindedly.

“Pretty?” She asked, and despite the subject, for a brief moment, Billy let himself smile.

“ _Very,”_ he agreed.

He decided that was a good place to end the conversation before Jane went back to a topic he had no real desire to speak on. Hopping off the trunk, Billy picked up their plates. “How about I take these inside, we see if she’ll start, _and_ if she does, I’ll get us ice cream and then take you back home. Sound good?” He had no idea why he offered to be honest. It was a thoughtless offer, and one he regretted immediately because it felt _wrong._ Too friendly, too foreign. This kid was not his friend, _couldn’t_ be. He wasn’t Harrington. He wasn’t going to go around befriending tweens. He shouldn’t be humoring her like he was.

But then she smiled, and he thought _Angel_ and _Mom_ and the necklace resting underneath his cotton t-shirt felt like it was burning his skin, and Billy realized he couldn’t back out.

So, he headed inside.

When he came back out, Jane was no longer sitting on the trunk, but he could make out a head of curls over his car and headed that way, jingling his keys. Billy’s car was far from finished, but it was good enough for ice cream. “Okay, kid, get in and I’ll—“

“Billy.”

Jane said his name like it was a warning, and Billy figured out why as soon as he stepped around the car. Standing, about ten feet in front of her was… a dog? It was shaped like a dog, had four legs, and was hunched over like dogs do when they were going to attack, but it didn’t look _anything_ like a fucking dog. It had no fur, no tail, _no fucking face._ It had long, dangerous looking claws, of which it was flexing against the cement, and even though it had no eyes that Billy could see he somehow _knew_ it was staring right at Jane.

“What the fuck,” he whispered, dumbfounded. “What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck, _what the fuck_ —“

“Billy,” Jane repeated, and _why the fuck_ did she sound so calm? “Run.”

_Excuse me?_ “And leave you with that fucking thing—“His voice cracked when he spoke and if this was any other situation Billy would be embarrassed, but he was currently too busy trying not to piss himself over the fucking _hellhound_ standing in front of his maybe-angel to focus on his ego.

Then it opened its’ mouth and _roared_.

It bloomed like a flower, but instead of pollen inside it was a _million fucking teeth_ and suddenly Jane’s suggestion of _running_ sounded really fucking good, but Billy’s feet felt like stone. He couldn’t move, the hellhound was bracing like it was about to jump, Billy’s necklace was burning. He glanced between himself and Jane and the tire iron he’d shown her earlier was sitting between them like a god damn _beacon,_ and he swore he heard a voice that wasn’t Jane’s call his name. A voice that sounded like his mother’s.

He ran then, but when he ran it was toward and not away, sweeping up the tire iron before placing himself between the hellhound and Jane just as it leaped forward. Billy planted his feet, gripped the end of the tool with both hands, held it up, and closed his god damn _eyes._

If he was going to die, he didn’t want to watch it happen, alright?

But nothing happened. He wasn’t tackled to the ground. Sharp claws and teeth didn’t sink into his flesh. And when he opened his eyes the hellhound was still right in front of him… except it was in the air. _Floating._ A foot from his fucking face, mouth wide open, drooling and snarling.

“How—“

“ _Move._ ”

He glanced back and, yeah, that _very different_ voice belonged to Jane, whose arm was stretched out. She wasn’t looking at Billy, her gaze trained on the dog, and Billy realized she had to be doing _that_ about the same time he decided he should maybe listen to her. So, he stepped back, and he was barely out of the way before the hellhound _flew_ backwards, its body skidding across the road before slamming into a tree trunk. It fell, went limp, and after it didn’t get back up for a few seconds Billy found his voice.

“ _What. The. Fuck._ ”

Jane’s nose was bleeding but she wiped it away like it was nothing then said, “No time,” and then, “We go.”

“Uhm, hold the fuck on, I need to know what the fuck _that w_ as and how you fucking—where would we even fucking _go_ —“

“Will.”

“… Will?” For the second or third time today, Billy felt like a real god damn idiot. “Like… the Byers kid?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It came for me.” She explained, and she was already moving to the passenger side of his car, yanking the door open without permission. “It will come for him.” Again, he wanted to ask _how_ and _why_ and _what the fuck_ but Jane was in the passenger seat and slamming the car door shut, not giving him the chance to ask. He looked back at the hellhound’s body once, twice, back at Jane. Once. Twice. Then Billy sighed, got in the car, shoved the keys into the ignition and prayed to fucking _God_ (and maybe Jane too) that it would start.

It did, Jane said _Go,_ and for once in his life, Billy fucking listened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a very jane & billy centric chapter, but i promise steve will be in the next one. just gotta' get that plot going, so please be patient with me lol


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> El finds Will, Billy needs a cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, wow, hey guys, sorry for the major delay?? This chapter was Supposed to be a Christmas update, and then a New Years update and now... here we are. Life got a little hectic, writer's block kicked in in the worst way and just, blah. I'm so sorry!
> 
> No warnings for this chapter!

The last time Billy drove to the Byers residence like he was currently he’d been pissed off and terrified and _itching_ to bloody his knuckles. Now he wasn’t pissed, but he sure was fucking terrified, determined to keep a straight face for the sake of the eerily calm child beside him. Something told him this wasn’t her first run-in with those dogs from hell, and that _somehow_ gave him absolutely no comfort what-so-ever.

What had he just been dragged into?

He barely had the car in park before Jane was jumping out, rushing to the front door. It slammed open without being touched and Billy tried not to think about that, grabbing the tire iron and chasing after her through the freezing cold. He realized too late that he should have grabbed his fucking jacket (and hers).

“Will!” She was yelling. Well, yelling for Jane. Which was more like a stern outdoor voice. Jonathan Byers stepped out from the kitchen—not Will—looking visibly startled and Billy thought _Yeah, me too_ until Jonathan’s eyes met his and the startled expression was replaced with a suspicious and growingly hostile one.

“What are you doing—“

“Where’s Will?” Jane reiterated.

“Here.” They all turned and the small boy in question was stepping out of the hall, a look of concern on his face. Billy didn’t know if it was because of his presence, the door being slammed open, or Jane, the latter of the three immediately making her way over to him. “El, are you—“

“Danger.” She said and reached up, cupping Will’s face in her hands. She closed her eyes, Will went still, then closed his eyes too. For the hundredth time Billy thought _what the fuck_ and waited three seconds before opening his mouth. The words died in his throat when Jonathan held up his hand to silence him, and Billy narrowed his eyes on him but did as he suggested.

What felt like hours, but was only maybe a minute or so, passed and then Jane and Will were opening their eyes and she was dropping her hands. Will swallowed and nodded stiffly, fixing big wide-eyes on Jonathan. “It’s happening again,” he said and Jonathan visibly tensed. “And they’re coming here.”

“Then let’s get the fuck out.”

It was Billy who spoke, three heads simultaneously turning toward him, and Jonathan looked like he wanted to argue except for the fact that it was a sound fucking argument. If _whatever the fuck that thing was_ was coming _here_ they need to get the hell out. “Yes.” Jane agreed, nodding at Billy before looking at Jonathan. “Somewhere safe.”

“What about—“

They all went dead silent when they heard a snarl come from outside the house. Each of the four exchanged glances and then Jonathan inched his way to the window, Billy following despite himself so he could take a peek out the window. Sure enough, there was another one of those hellhounds, and it was standing on top of his car, flexing its claws against the roof. He could practically _hear_ the claws scraping at the paint, and if he wasn’t so god damn terrified Billy would he out there snapping at the thing to _get the fuck off._

But then two more came around each side and he decided no car—even his beautiful girl—was worth dying over.

“Shit,” he and Jonathan said in unison, one of the three moving to Jonathan’s car to sniff around it. They clearly hadn’t figured out they were in the house yet, but something told Billy that wasn’t going to last very long.

The silent _What do we do_ rang out between them all until Will got an idea.

“Steve’s, “he said, “His house is on the other side of us right? Through the forest. If we go out the backdoor and stay quiet maybe we can sneak through and get to him. His place is big and he has a basement we could hide in.” Billy, who had no idea Harrington’s house was that close or that he even knew about this shit, just stayed silent. Jane already seemed down for the plan, and after a moment Jonathan nodded, swearing under his breath.

“It’s the best option,” he agreed, before jogging into the hall. He came back with a gun and a bat (this one without nails) and Billy raised an eyebrow at it, but Jonathan ignored him, holding the bat out to Will who tentatively took it. “Let’s go.”

Billy still had a lot of questions. A _fuck ton_ of questions, really, but he was smart enough to know that this was _not_ the time to ask any of them. So, he just followed, taking the back end of the group despite himself so that the two kids were in between him and the elder Byers.

\--

When Will had said Harrington’s place was big, it’d been an understatement. It was fucking _huge,_ easily the biggest in the entire fucking town from what he’d seen (and was that a god damn heated pool?) and a bitter feeling curled in his stomach that Billy did his best to ignore. He’d be bitter later, but right now there was more important shit on his mind, like not dying.

The walk had taken longer than Billy thought it was going to, and by the time Jonathan was knocking on the sliding glass door he couldn’t feel his god damn nose. No one came and Jonathan knocked again. Billy made a sound close to a growl in the back of his throat, “How do we even know if he’s home—“

“He’s home.” Jane confirmed and Billy decided not to ask how she knew that.

Minutes later, Steve Harrington appeared, eyebrows shooting up when he saw the four of them (raising impossibly higher when his eyes landed on Billy last). He seemed to freeze for a moment then rushed forward, wrenching the door open and ushering them inside. “Guys, what the hell—why are you—“ he stopped at the weapons and Billy could practically see the gears turning in his head. Then, “ _Fuck_. It’s happening again isn’t it?”

Jonathan, Will, and Jane nodded. Billy simply stood there wondering why the fuck he was here, what the fuck _again_ meant, and whether or not everyone in this god damn town knew about the fucking hellhounds except for him.

“Christ.” Harrington took a deep breath, brushed his fingers through his hair, then proceeded to lock the glass door and draw the curtains shut. “Okay— _Christ_ —okay.” Well, at least someone was reacting somewhat normally other than Billy. “Why did you guys come here? What is _he_ doing here—“ He gestured to Billy who opened his mouth to say something that wasn’t going to be very nice, but Jane interrupted.

“Friend.”

Steve blinked, Billy blinked, and no one said anything.

“I need to call my mom.” Jonathan realized out loud, “She’s at work, she should know.”

“Jim too.” Jane said and Jonathan nodded.

“I’ll show you the uh… phone—“For a second, he thought Harrington looked wary about leaving him alone with the kids and he offered a grin, one that was all teeth and a little challenging. Even with hellhounds on his ass something about Steve Harrington made Billy’s fingers twitch.

He and Jonathan left the room and then, suddenly, he was alone with two tweens.

“So…” The smaller Byers started, and he seemed just as awkward as his older brother. Figured. “… you two are friends?” Jane nodded, and Billy shrugged. The idea that his first (and only) friend in this hell hole being a little girl was more than a bit pathetic, but Billy wasn’t going to argue. There was more important shit going on than who he was and wasn’t friends with. “How?”

“She almost killed me,” Billy said plainly, but when he noticed a flash of guilt run across Jane’s he added a grin, something to tell her it was okay. He hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t done it on purpose. This kid almost got him killed, he shouldn’t give a shit if she felt guilty. But her worried look melted away and she gave a small smile back and Billy felt alright.

He gestured to his bruised face and body (if you squinted you could make out a wrap of bandages around his stomach from under his shirt), “She’s helping me fix my car in repayment.” Will nodded like he understood. With how much this town gossiped he wouldn’t be surprised if even the middle schoolers were talking about his accident. Plus, wasn’t this kid a friend of Max’s? She’d probably been disappointed to find out he lived and complained to them about it.

An awkward silence settled between them, or at least between Will and Billy while Jane seemed completely unaware. The kid was watching him, and his eyes were unnerving like Jane’s but in a different way. She looked at you as if she could read your thoughts, as if she knew everything you were thinking. This kid, though. _Will._ His eyes were wide, hopeful, and he looked at Billy like he could read his _soul_. He shivered.  
  
What the fuck was with these kids?

“Okay—“He jerked around as Byers and Harrington came back in, “—mom’s on her way, and Hopper didn’t pick up so we told his secretary to have him call us back ASAP.”

“ASAP?”

“Uh, As soon as possible.” Jane frowned, but nodded, accepting that answer, and Will seemed to relax almost as soon as his mother coming was mentioned. So, he was a momma’s boy, huh? Figured. He seemed like one.  
  
(as if Billy ever had any room to talk).

“I’m gonna’ go smoke a cigarette,” Billy suddenly said, and ignored the prick of irritation he felt under his skin when Steve looked at him like he was the dumbest person he’d ever met.   
  
“Are you _serious_? Did you not see those things? Outside is the last place you wanna’ go, Hargrove—“

“He’s right,” Will offered, much softer and with a lot less _mirth_ than Harrington had.

“Yeah, well—“he took a breath, “—I just found out fucked up hellhounds have invaded this town for what is _at least_ the second time, there’s a little girl with mutant powers, and I left my car to become a scratching post so I need a _fucking_ cigarette.” He was already making his way to the glass door as he spoke, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighter with one hand, while gesturing at the door with his other. “See this? It’s called _glass._ That means you can watch me the entire time and make sure nothing happens—“

Harrington was saying something (an argument, no doubt), and Byers was adding to it, but none of that mattered because as soon as Billy went to wrench the door open an unseen force threw it back closed and he practically _snarled,_ turning around to face Jane because _who the fuck else_ could do that?

“No.” She said.

“Do _not_ tell me what to do.”

“ _No_ ,” she reiterated, and his smokes flew from his hand and across the room. Anger flared up in Billy’s gut and his (now empty) fingers twitched at their sides. He liked Jane, _really,_ he did—or was starting to—but in less than two hours his entire world had been knocked upside down, he didn’t know what the _fuck_ was going on and this kid, this tiny, _frail_ looking little girl was denying him his _one_ slice of relaxation.

For the moment, that made them enemies.

“Listen, brat—“ He took a step forward, and suddenly Harrington was there, in between them, a hand out to Jane as if to stop her, while his glare was settled on Billy.

“ _Enough_.” He said, and Billy wanted to laugh. That was the second time in under a minute he’d been bossed around and he was getting _tired_ of it— “I’ll go outside with him.” Oh. “I need to get my bat from my trunk, anyway.” Something in Billy’s expression must have looked like he was relenting, because Steve seemed satisfied and looked back to Jane. “We’ll go out, get it, he’ll have a smoke, then we’ll be right back in. I won’t let anything happen to either of us. Sound good?”

She looked like she was weighing her options and Billy wanted to say _she’s a fucking kid, why are you asking her permission_ but instead thought about the hellhound she tossed against the tree, and his smokes she threw across the room and figured, _that’s probably why._ Finally, Jane nodded and stepped out of the way, and Harrington gave her a smile before stepping passed her.   
  
Billy did the same, glaring a bit as he went.

“We’ll be right back—you guys are welcome to whatever is in the fridge.” Harrington headed for the door, and Billy followed, scooping up his cigarettes along the way.

He stayed on the porch while Steve went to his trunk to retrieve the bat, finding no desire to walk further in the cold than he actually had to. Even two feet from the door, Billy was starting to freeze, cursing the Indiana weather as a chill ran through his skin. The weather and the people were enough reason to hate this place, and now there were hellhounds too? _Christ._ And here his old man thought California was where America kept all its freaks.

Placing a cigarette between his lips, Billy looked over as Harrington opened his trunk, disappearing behind it. He lit it, cupping the end with one hand to save the flame from the wind, and took a deep breath, reveling in the small high that came with the nicotine melting into his system. Billy’s nerves began to settle almost immediately, a stiffness in his shoulders slowly unraveling as he lifted his head to the sky, closed his eyes, and breathed out. Of course, no amount of cigarettes could make the fear and anxiety that’d settled in his bones go away, but it was better than nothing.

Hearing the trunk slam shut, Billy opened his eyes and dropped his head, watching as Harrington rounded the corner with his nightmare of a bat in his hands. Billy looked at it like they were old enemies, and Steve didn’t miss it, an almost-smirk pulling at his lips when Billy’s eyes traveled back to his face. “So _that’s_ why you have that thing?” He heard himself ask, gesturing to the bat before taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Well, it’s not just to use on shitty step-brothers if that’s what you’re asking—“

“Very funny,” Billy shot back, tempted to roll his eyes at how pleased Harrington looked with himself over the joke. He was such an _idiot._ A real weirdo. “Just keep it away from me.” Steve shrugged, twirled it a couple times in his hand, met Billy’s _glare,_ then politely put it to his side, as far from Billy as possible while still keeping it within arm’s reach (just in case).

Good enough.

Billy was taking his sixth or seventh hit when Steve spoke up again, “You didn’t have to be an ass to her you know—El, I mean. She just didn’t want you going outside because she cares—“

“—who the fuck is El?”

“… uh. What?”

“ _El._ ” Billy repeated, looking at Steve in a way that said _don’t bullshit me,_ “Byers called her that too, back at his house.” He hadn’t missed it, just had been more concerned about not getting _eaten_. “I thought her name was Jane.”

“It… is.” Harrington was frowning now, nose wrinkled, and eyebrows pulled together like he was confused or thinking real hard. It was an expression that’d look stupid on anyone else, but not here. Obviously not here. “She has two names. Kinda’.”

“You gonna’ tell me why or am I supposed to _guess_.” Harrington opened his mouth but Billy continued, “Speaking of explaining shit to me, I got a lot more questions other than a little girl’s fucking name. Like—what the fuck _are_ those things, what the hell does ‘happening again’ mean, and who the fuck else knows about this because I’m lost as shit and seem to be the only one. “

“It’s…” He took a breath, “Complicated, okay? And—“ Harrington glanced around before looking back at Billy. “Now isn’t… now isn’t the time to explain everything. It’s kind of a long story, it’s freezing out here, and we don’t even know if we’re safe yet. Just—“ The rumble of a car cut Steve off, a green Gremlin hitting its brakes in his driveway. “—tonight, okay?” Steve offered, jerking Billy’s attention away from the someone stepping out of that shitty car. Ms. Byers, Billy assumed. “After everything calms down, and we know everyone’s safe. I’ll tell you whatever you wanna’ know… that work?”

Billy wanted to say _No, that doesn’t fucking work._ He wanted to demand answers _now_ because he was too fucking overwhelmed, and freaked out think of anything else until he had _some_ kind of information. Except then Mrs. Byers was running up the porch steps and she looked… well, she looked like a mess. Her hair was wild, her eyes wide, and she looked god damn _terrified._

So, Billy ended up just inclining his head in a silent _Fine, whatever_ and stepped out of the way as Ms. Byers breezed past him and into the house. Somewhere inside he heard, “Will! Jonathan!” and a synchronized response of “Mom!” all participating voices sounding equally worried about the other. He glanced at Harrington, but he wasn’t looking at him. Instead, he picked up his bat and headed on in. Billy watched him go, took one last drag of nicotine, tossed his cigarette butt into the bushes, and followed after him, fingers already itching for another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry again ya'll, and also if you found this chapter a little lack-luster :/ stuff is coming together, i promise. thanks so much for being patient with me, you have No Idea what your kind comments mean to me, especially when the writer's block and doubt hit.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve talks, Billy listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Once again, thanks for all the sweet comments. You guys are honestly so nice. This chapter is definitely a bit angsty, and I'll apologize a head of time for the cliff hanger. No warnings!

In a turn of events that was both surprising, and not surprising at all, Harrington kept his word.

It took a couple hours. They rejoined the others, Billy watched Joyce Byers interact with her sons and pretended he wasn’t bitter, that there wasn’t an ache in his chest at the sight. She’s sweet, he shouldn’t be surprised. With sons as happy to be weird as Jonathan and Will seemed to be, they couldn’t have mean parents (or, at least, had to have one decent one). He never heard anything about their father, never saw him in town like he did Joyce at the convenience store, so he was either dead or not around. Either way, they were probably better off for it.

Call him biased, but Billy’s never met a father figure he trusted.

He waited until the _cop_ arrived to disappear. Hopper walked in, eyebrows creased in worry just as Mother Byers’ had been. All his attention was on Jane as he made his way to her. She didn’t hesitate to hug him, wrapping her thin arms around his waist. He was asking her if she was okay, what was happening, repeated if she was okay _again_ and Billy felt sick, so he disappeared.

He didn’t _leave,_ that was the important part. Just took everyone’s focus on the kids as his cue to back up and head up the stairs. He wasn’t usually a nosy guy. Couldn’t care less about other people, their lives, or the shit they got up to when they thought no one was watching. _But_ he cared about Harrington. Or rather, he was curious about Harrington. Curious enough to check out his upstairs.

The first room was basically an empty bedroom, so he assumed it was a (probably one of many) guest room. The walls were a pale peach color, the bed sheets and quilt on top were bland, and there were paintings on the wall that just screamed _I’m ugly and I cost way too much._ But that’s what rich people did. They spent money on ugly shit just because they _could._ Bored with it, he closed the door and moved on.

Second door was a linen closet, third another guest room (just as boring as the first) and forth a bathroom. After opening a couple doors, he realized it connected the two guest rooms, and—you guessed it—it was just as bland and boring as they are. Hand towels sat on the counter, bath towels hung next to the shower. There were two unopened toothbrushes and toothpastes next to each sink, along with some hand soap. It was like a god damn hotel, and it made Billy’s skin crawl. What kind of _home_ was like this?

Fifth door led to the biggest room so far, and it’s a god damn _game_ room. There’s a pin-pong table toward the back, and a home theater in the front with two rows of comfortable looking chairs. _Christ._ For a moment, Billy thought of the brats, of _Max,_ and if any of them had ever been up there. He could see it. All in their chosen seats, popcorn in their laps, watching something like _Ghostbusters_ or _Blade Runner._ It was probably the happiest Max had been since they moved.  
  
Frowning at the thought, Billy closed the door and went to the last room.

It was Harrington’s. It was Harrington’s and he _only_ knew this because of the few basketball trophies, the car poster, and the bikini-clad chick poster (familiar). There’s a backpack tossed on the ground, along with a couple clothes (mostly socks), and a jacket. That’s it. The walls were some ugly-ass plaid style, the curtains matched. There was no personality. _None._ No pictures, no band posters or movie posters. Nothing that said Harrington had any kind of _hobby._ Nothing. In that second Billy learned more about Steve Harrington by looking at his room than he had in the last few months of fucking with him.

This was a house, yeah, a _nice_ one, but it wasn’t a home. Not to one damn person that lived there.

Despite his better judgement, Billy stepped in. He crossed the room and picked up a couple trophies to read them. The oldest one—Harrington must have been twelve or thirteen when he got it—is only a participation trophy, but the three after are MVPs. There’s a track medal too. Billy stepped back, deciding maybe he should _go_ (that going through Harrington’s room was a new level of creepy he didn’t want to enter) when something caught his eye. The start of a photo, maybe, sticking out of the top drawer of Harrington’s dresser. Billy smirked and walked over, think maybe he found Harrington’s (poorly hidden) porn stash.

It was Wheeler.

More specifically, it was Wheeler _and_ Harrington. They were sharing some photo booth. The first was a normal picture, them smiling big and wide, but it strikes Billy that he’d never seen that smile on the brunette before. It was almost careless, happy, _in love._ The second is similar, too, except he’s looking at Wheeler. She’s still staring at the camera, missing the look in his eyes. But Billy doesn’t.

It’s god damn _devotion._

The third Harrington’s kissing her cheek, and in the fourth their kissing each other. Billy’s stomach turned and he felt sick all over again, so he shoved the pictures back into Harrington’s drawer and slammed it.

He was stepping back, moving to leave when a voice sounded, “What are you doing in my room, Hargrove?” and he nearly jumped out of his fucking _skin,_ twisting around to meet Harrington’s suspicious gaze. He had his arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows lifted, expecting a good answer Billy didn’t have.

“Looking for your porn,” he sneered, like it was the truth, “Figures Mr. Perfect doesn’t have jack shit.”

“Did you check under the mattress?” Harrington asked idly, and Billy’s furrowed brow was answer enough. Steve smirked, and Billy glanced down at the mattress, kind of wanting to reach down and _find out._ But before he could, Harrington took a seat on said mattress, leaning back on his palms. “You disappeared. Figured you were snooping.”

“Not much to snoop. Your house is boring, Harrington.”

He just shrugged, “Maybe. Used to not spend much time here, so I never cared.” Billy didn’t miss the _used to,_ but decided not to comment on it. Steve gestured to the bed, said, “Guess I should tell you about this shit,” and Billy nodded. He didn’t sit on the bed though, choosing instead to take the less-comfortable-seeming chair by his desk. Sitting next to Harrington, on his _bed,_ was the last thing he wanted. If Steve noticed, he didn’t seem to care. He leaned back, swiped something from his bedside table, and when Billy realized what it was, he grinned wide.

Taking a swig from the flask, Harrington offered it out, and Billy thought about asking what it was, before deciding he didn’t give a shit. He snatched it, took a generous gulp (whiskey—acceptable) then tossed it back, smirking a bit when Harrington fumbled to catch it, shooting him a glare. “Get talking, pretty boy.”

And he did.

He started off at the beginning, but reminded Billy his shit doesn’t come until later. He talked about Will Byers, and his disappearance. Billy had heard about it, of course. _Zombie Boy_ and how everyone thought he was dead, but it’d turned out he’d only been missing. Disappeared in the woods or some shit. It turned out not to be _too far_ from the truth, but the truth was ten times more fucked up. Harrington then went into Jane, and her escape from the facility that “raised” her. Billy’s fists clenched at the knowledge, an unfamiliar flare of protectiveness washing over him. This time, it was obvious Harrington noticed, but he didn’t comment.

Then he mentioned _Barb._ Wheeler’s best friend. “She died in my pool,” Steve said, and Billy could hear it in his voice. _Guilt._ “The same thing that snatched Will got _her_ and she didn’t… she didn’t make it.” Billy heard about her. That she ran off until it came out that she got poisoned by the government or some shit last winter. For a moment, Billy wanted to tell Harrington it wasn’t his fault some chick died in his pool, but he didn’t. He just listened.

Hopper was investigating it all, Joyce was refusing to give up on her son even when an identical-fucking-body was found. The boys didn’t give up either, and somewhere along there they found Jane. Then Harrington paused, like he didn’t want to talk about the next part. Billy doesn’t say _it’s okay_ or _you don’t have to._ He just sat and waited until Harrington _did._

He gets into Byers, the _photos,_ how he was too focused on his parents “kicking his ass” if they found out about Barb. Billy wondered if when Harrington said, “they’d kick my ass”, he meant that, or if was just one of those exaggerations kids who have never been hit in their god damn life say, when really all they get was a lecture and a grounding. But then Harrington’s talking about Wheeler and the older Byers teaming up, and he suddenly sounded guarded. The next part was a rush of words. Quick. Guilt-ridden.

“I saw them together, in her room. Flipped my shit. Let Tommy say some shit he shouldn’t have, said some shit _I_ shouldn’t have. Jonathan kicked my ass—I deserved it.”

Billy had heard something about that. Tommy bragging that Harrington acted all tough but wasn’t _shit._ Billy had asked why they weren’t friends anymore, what had happened, and Tommy had been more than _happy_ to talk about it, to brag about almost kicking Harrington’s ass himself.

“Anyway,” Steve breathed, and pulled Billy’s attention back to him. “I went to apologize.” Then he gets into finding Wheeler at Byers, their cut hands, the weapons and traps laid out everywhere, the fucking gasoline on the carpet, Nancy fucking Wheeler pointing a gun at him and demanding he leave. It was kind was a kind of impressive piece of information to learn. Little Ms. Perfect had _edge_ to her. Billy liked it.

But, of course, Steve _didn’t_ leave. He stuck around like some god damn action hero and fought the fucking thing. He, of course, didn’t describe it that way. He mentioned how fucking t _errified_ he was. How the “Demogorgon” was huge, bigger than the dogs, (“Hellhounds?” Billy asked. “Demo-dogs.” Steve had corrected. Billy liked his term better). They don’t end up killing it, _Jane_ does. According to the kids she fucking dissolved the thing, and god damn was Billy impressed. Suddenly, the idea of standing up to her over a god damn cigarette seemed real _stupid._

Here lies William N. Hargrove. Died at the hands of a thirteen-year-old science experiment because he couldn’t go two hours without a fucking _cigarette._

Eh, sounded pretty on-point for him, actually.

“Then a year passed.” And Billy fucking _laughed_ because the story was only half-fucking-over and he was already completely overwhelmed. So, he took the flask back, chugged almost all of it, and passed it back over for Harrington to finish, which he did.

So now it was the end of last October, moving into November. Billy had just moved into town, Will had been having weird Upside Down episodes for the past year (getting progressively worse), and Harrington was having some fucked-up dinner with Wheeler, and Barb’s parents every few weeks. Billy’s face must have given away how weird he thought it was, too, because Harrington just sighed and said, “I know,” before continuing.

He mentioned Halloween night quickly, since it was one of the nights Will saw this fucking _smoke monster._ Billy quipped, “You mean the night Wheeler broke your heart?” And kind of regretted it the moment Harrington shot him a look that clearly said _Fuck you_ with so much menace that Billy had to wonder if there was ever a time Harrington didn’t hate him (probably not; Billy made sure of that).  
  
“Not important,” Except it kind of was, since that was what led Harrington to Wheeler’s house, where he ran into Henderson who roped him back into the mess. “Apparently the kid adopted some kind of demonic slug— “and Billy had to fucking laugh at that, because _of course_ he did. It’s a bark of a laugh, harsh, judgmental. He hated these kids so much.

Steve continued. Apparently, it grew into one of those _things_ Jane tossed into a tree. There were lots of them, Steve said, and their only goal seemed to be _destruction_ while the smoke monster (Mind Flayer, Harrington said—another stupid name in Billy’s opinion) possessed Will Byers.

By the time Harrington got to the part in the junkyard and taking on a group of those fuckers by himself, Billy felt exhausted and irritated. “So, not only did you drag my step-sister into this shit— ““—I didn’t, Lucas— ““— _whatever._ Then you go one v. fuck only knows like some dumbass— ““—or do what? Let it eat the kids?” “—fuck if I know, Harrington, but that’s a stupid god damn move— “

“Whatever!” He finally snapped, “You want me to finish the story or not?” So, Billy shut up.

He skipped to that night at the Byers. To Jane showing up to save their lives (“Turns out she’d been living with Hopper the whole time. Walked in looking like a replicant.”). To stuffing Will in a shed in an attempt to blind the Mind Flayer. To trying to get through to him. To the _plan._ The Byers (plus Wheeler) save Will, Hopper and Jane close the gate. Harrington babysits.

“Mike wanted to go help, convinced Jane needed him. I had just fucking convinced them to _chill out_ when you showed up.” And that’s a scene Billy didn’t needed to be reminded of. He had played it over in his head a lot these past few months. Specifically, everything that happened inside. Threatening a fucking kid, getting in Harrington’s space, _beating_ him. Getting drugged, threatened. “I woke up in your car with a rainbow sticker on my face and Max driving like a god damn mad woman.”

Somehow, simultaneously, Billy found proud and annoyed with Max for taking his car on a joy ride.

“So, we went into the tunnels I mentioned--,” Billy made a face and Steve responded to it quick, “—they were going to go with or _without_ me, Hargrove. The choice wasn’t mine. Anyway, we set fire to the bitch, they saved Will, and Jane closed the gate.”

The fucking End.

Or, you know, it should have been.

“And now they’re back.” Billy breathed.

“Yeah.” Steve said and they went quiet.

A lot of heavy shit was sitting between them now, a lot of mind-fuckery that Billy hadn’t been prepared for when he woke up this morning. His life was already hell, he was already on his toes, scared of his own god damn shadow, and now there was _this._ Harrington let the uncomfortable silence hang, too, probably realizing Billy needed time to process it all.

Then, Billy let out a long, drawn out, and sighed, “ _Fuuuuuuuck_.” And tossed his head against the back of the chair to stare up at the ceiling. “This is the last thing I need.”

To his utter surprise, Harrington’s reply was, “Then leave.”

Billy blinked. Once. Twice. Dropped his head to look at Harrington, who had a look on his face that was just… tired.

“What?”

“Leave.” Steve said, once more, like it was _simple._ He even shrugged. “Jane said it herself. The demodog was after her, and maybe Will, not you. You can go home. Pretend none of this shit happened to you.”

“How the hell am I supposed to _pretend_ none of this shit happened, Harrington— “

“You just try, I guess.” Clearly it hadn’t worked for the other boy, but something told Billy that wasn’t why he was suggesting it. “Look— “he sighed, dragged a hand through his hair to fix it even though nothing was wrong with it. “You have no reason to become a part of this, and—“he licked his lips. Billy knew something was coming that’d make his fingers twitch. He wasn’t wrong.

“—You don’t belong here either.” He said, and Billy felt his blood heat up in the worst kind of way. “This situation just got super fucking delicate, man, and you… you’re so unpredictable you’re predictable.”  
  
“ _Excuse me_ — “Billy hadn’t even realized he stood until he did, but Harrington didn’t budge, didn’t fucking move, didn’t look scared. _Nothing._ Just tired.

“See?” He asked, and gestured between them. “I knew you’d react like that. You’re fucking—you have the shortest fuse I’ve ever seen and that’s the _last_ thing these kids need, Billy.” _Billy._ He called him Billy.

“Will looks like he’s on the verge of a panic attack every god damn day. Joyce jumps every time the phone rings. Jane’s already been through enough, they _all_ have.” And Billy wanted to say, _what about Max,_ but he already knew what the reaction would be. Because he didn’t care about Max, didn’t care what happened to her, didn’t care if she got fucking eaten alive. He was an asshole, after all. The _bad guy._ “You’d just… make it more complicated.”

Worst part? He was fucking right. Billy _knew_ he was right. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong in this group of people who clearly cared about each other. They were a team, a god damn _family,_ and that wasn’t a place for Billy. For Max? Sure. It was perfect for her. She was _thriving._ She was loved. But that wasn’t Billy’s life, that would never _be_ Billy’s life, and he’d been stupid to think otherwise—if only for a second.

He didn’t need to be a part of this shit. Didn’t want to be, either. Harrington was right, there was nothing stopping him from staying. Not him, not Max, not Jane. Nothing. No one.

To Harrington’s absolute surprise, Billy’s fist unclenched and his shoulders sloped. “You’re right.” His voice was absolutely empty when he said it. Resigned, unfeeling. Steve was staring at him, and Billy knew he had expected a storm, expected to be fought on the subject. Maybe expected Billy to hit him too. Instead, he just moved for the door. “Don’t get eaten, Harrington.” And then he was gone, slamming the door behind him and heading down the stairs.

The others were in the living room, talking, so Billy went for the kitchen and slipped out the back door. He lit up a cigarette, shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants to keep his fingers from going numb, and headed back into the woods, toward the Byers’ to get his god damn car. The dogs probably wouldn’t be there anymore, and if they were? Fuck it. He forgot his god damn tire iron, but it didn’t matter. Billy would fight them hand to hand if it meant getting his god damn car and going home. He just wanted to get there—maybe before his dad did, if he was lucky—get drunk from the booze stashed under his bed, and pass the fuck out.

He was half-way there too, no dogs in sight, when he saw it. Or, more appropriately, _him._

For a second, it looked like his father with his back to him. Stood there in jeans and a well-fit plaid button up, perfectly combed hair. He heard his name, _Billy,_ spoken, but it didn’t sound like it was coming from him. “Dad?” He stepped forward, snow and dead leaves crunched underneath his boot, and the person turned. Slow.

If Billy didn’t have perfect vision he’d rub his eyes, because the face was blurry. The kind of blur you might see when you first wake up and have sleep in your eyes, or when the picture of your shitty TV starts going in and out. Static, that’s what Billy was thinking of. His face was crackling like it was made of _static,_ switching in between pictures so fast that Billy couldn’t make out Neil’s face. “ _Billy,”_ it said again, but it echoed around him, sent chills up his spine.

It took a step forward, Billy took a step back, and it reached out toward him. Its (because this is _not_ his fucking father) hand turned into static too, fading in and out of existence just like its face. Fear had Billy rooted in his spot, suddenly wishing for his tire iron, for _something._ Then the entire form cut out like it lost reception and came back with a sizzling _snap,_ but the static was gone, replaced with head and hands made of smoke.

_Smoke monster._

Fight or flight kicked in then and Billy _took off,_ turning in a random direction before _hauling ass._ He ran for fuck only knows how long, heart hammering in his chest, almost slipping over the wet ground twice. Billy only stopped when he realized he was lost. When he realized it wasn’t _chasing_ him anymore, that he was alone. He started coughing, bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, mumbling things like _what the fuck what the fuck_ and _holy shit_ over and over again. He looked down at his feet, at the twigs and dirt underneath his boots. At the pendent of Virgin Mary dangling in the air.

Billy started to reach for it, to wrap his fingers around it and maybe even fucking _pray,_ but then he heard leaves rustle, dropped his hand and twisted around.

He had just enough time to make out a smoky form before he felt something invisible and _sharp_ stab him through his chest, piercing his heart and polluting his blood. It was the worst pain he ever felt. Worse than anything he’s father’s ever done, worse than anything he’s ever done to himself. He thought he may have screamed. And, for the second time in two weeks, everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when i said slow burn? yeah, i meant :| hope ya'll don't mind.
> 
> p.s. i was thinking about making a tumblr under this account name so yall could shoot me questions and/or i could let ya'll know when i update and when there might be delays? ( plus i've been wanting to make a harringrove centric side blog anyway ) would ya'll be interested in that? let me know!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy loses something. Actually, Billy loses a lot of somethings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, uh, it's been a while. I'm so sorry for the wait, and I promise the next update won't take as long. As a thank you to ya'lls patience and to anybody who is still with me, this chapter is much longer than the rest. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Typical Billy Shit, Child Abuse, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Mentions of Suicide, Possession.

The next morning, Billy woke up to his father pounding on his door. He was lying in bed, sprawled out, covers thrown off onto the ground, bare-ass naked, and he couldn’t for the life of him remember how the _fuck_ he got home. The day before felt like a vague memory, like the ghost of nightmares often do, weighing at the back of your mind, not quite ready to let go. On the other side of thin wood, his father yelled something like _Get the hell up, Billy_ and he was pretty sure he responded with something like _I’m up I’m up_ despite having not budged even an inch from his spot. He felt unnaturally weak, _tired;_ all of which were signs that maybe his nightmare _did_ in fact happen, which of course couldn’t be the truth.

He didn’t remember leaving Harrington’s house, he didn’t remember getting back to the Byers or getting in his car, which only made it feel more like a nightmare, so maybe none of it had happened. Maybe fucked up looking slimy dogs didn’t _actually_ exist.

Yeah, that sounded logical. More logical than the other option.

The _Monsters are real and want to eat you_ option.

When he finally gets up, his legs wobble, and Billy must take a second to find his baring’s. His hair is stuck to the back of his neck from dried sweat, and for a moment he considered the option that maybe he was _sick_ since this was something he’d compare to how one might feel after a fever breaks. Maybe he shouldn’t have worked outside on his car in the freezing cold with only a tank top and thin jeans on.

Either way, he felt _disgusting,_ so he checked the time, made sure he had enough of it to take a shower, then slipped in, keeping the water cool to maybe help push out what was left of his fever. He considered skipping school. He could drop Max off and crawl back home and sleep the rest of the day away. That sounded good. _Sleep._ He didn’t feel anything close to rested despite his apparent passing out, so maybe he needed it. Thirteen or fourteen hours of being _dead_ to feel like a normal person again. Billy never handled being sick well. He was a right _pussy_ about it, his dad would say.

_It’s because of your mother,_ he would add, a disdainful tone in his voice for his late wife. _She always babied you. It’s a wonder why you aren’t some sniveling bitch._

Billy could almost hear it like he was right there in his ear whispering.

He must have stayed under the cool water too long, because Max ended up knocking, poking her head in ( no locked doors allowed in his father’s house, you see ), “Uh, Billy? You almost done? School starts in fifteen.”

With a swear, he shooed her out before shutting off the water and wrapping a towel around his waist. He gets dressed in a hurry, not bothering with his hair since he planned on coming right back home. In nothing but a thin cotton tee, jeans, and boots, he’s headed for the school five minutes later, breaking just about every driving law and ignoring the way Max’s hand was clenched on the door handle the whole time.

He expected Max to hop out like she always did as soon as he pulled up, but instead she lingered, glancing back at him before going, “You look like shit,” and despite the harshness of her words he _almost_ thought she was concerned.

_Who’d be concerned about you?_

Shaking his father’s voice from his head, Billy replied, “Feel like it too, now get the fuck out of my car shithead,” and with a glare, she did, bounding up the middle school steps two at a time, her friends waiting for her at the top like usual.

Pulling back out, Billy missed the way Will Byers’ eyes lingered on him as he drove off.

He was circling the high school parking lot, about to get back onto the road when he noticed Harrington, leaning up against his Beamer. It felt off considering class was about to start, so he slowed, absently remembering his birthday when he spotted him slumped in the driver’s seat of his car, looking like someone who hadn’t slept in days. Harrington didn’t look _as_ tired today, but he also still didn’t look great.

Not that it mattered.

Frowning at himself, Billy was about to shift gears when their eyes met and—after a second or two of hesitation—Harrington made a gesture for him to roll down his passenger side window. He did, despite himself, and the older boy walked over, leaning down to rest his elbows on the open window.

“You didn’t have to run off like that yesterday,” and Billy’s immediately confused. Yesterday? But that’d mean— “When I said you should just pretend this never happened, I hadn’t meant that you should walk off into the possibly demo-dog infested woods by yourself. El was worried.”

“El.”

“Jane,” he reminded and Billy just frowned more.

So, it happened then. That _wasn’t_ a nightmare. Jane really did toss a hellhound looking mother fucker into a tree, and he really did leave his car at the Byers’. So, then how the fuck did he get home? His car was in the driveway, which meant he had to have driven. Why didn’t he remember that?

“Billy.” He blinked, realizing Harrington had said his name a couple times. “You there?”

“Whatever.” He grunted, changing gears like he’d meant to a moment ago. “I’m obviously good—“ _yeah, real peachy,_ “—so you can tell the kid not to worry.”

With a nod, Steve stepped back, stopped, then leaned back toward him. Billy sighed, feeling exhausted and impatient and just _done._ He didn’t understand shit, didn’t remember _shit,_ and he just wanted to go home and pass out. “ _What,_ Harrington?”

“About what I said—“

Billy held up a hand, “Forget it. You were right. I got nothin’ to do, and want nothin’ to do with this whole fucked up situation. Just know that if you get my step-sister killed I’m skinning you alive.” Because somehow, even if Neil found out about the monsters, he’d still find _some way_ to blame Billy for her demise.

“I wasn’t… going to apologize,” Harrington mumbled, and Billy _almost_ laughed. Right, what was he thinking. Not like he wanted it, or deserved it anyway. “Just… you can’t tell anyone, you know that right?”

“I’m not fucking _stupid,_ princess—“ Billy took some pleasure in the disgusted look that crossed Steve’s face at the name, “—I’d be committed just for trying. Now get your hand the fuck off my car or lose it.” He was given little time, his arm barely out of the way before Billy’s taking off out of the parking lot without so much as a _see ya’_.

He stripped as soon as he got home. Shirt off before he was even in his bedroom, boots, then socks, pants, and underwear following. Then there he stood, naked like the day he was born, and it still wasn’t _enough,_ so Billy opened his window up a few inches to let the cool air in before finally collapsing onto his bed.

When he woke up this morning he’d been sure everything that happened yesterday had just been some fucked up nightmare, but now he knew it was _real_ and he couldn’t account for at least fifteen hours of memory. Fifteen fucking hours. Gone. Wiped. No cold did that, no flu did either. Drinking could do it if he tried hard enough, but he’d remember getting shit faced at Steve Harrington’s house. He’d _definitely_ remember that.

Fishing out a cigarette from a crumpled-up pack under his bed, Billy placed it—unlit—between his lips and considered tracking down Jane again. She could toss things with her mind, and clearly had some weird telepathic thing going on too, so maybe she could help. Maybe she could be the Professor X to his Wolverine and help him get his god damn memories back. Then again, maybe he forgot those memories for a reason. Maybe his brain was doing him a favor, like with those poor fuckers who get kidnapped by aliens and then conveniently forget what was done to them. Billy used to think it was just an excuse because they’d been _lying_ to get famous _,_ but now he wondered otherwise. If fucking other-worldly monsters could exist, why couldn’t aliens?

“Christ,” he breathed, scrubbing his face with his hands. He reached down without thinking, scratching blunt nails over his chest in a lazy manner before looping his fingers around his necklace. It was all idle, without thought, except this time—

This time there was no necklace.

He shot up in an instant, panic settling in his veins. Billy felt around on his chest. Nothing. He looked down. Nothing. He even got up and stood in front of the fucking mirror and— _nothing_. His necklace wasn’t there. The necklace he _never fucking took off_ wasn’t there. The necklace his mother gave him. The necklace that meant more to him than his car, or his own fucking life.

Billy searched the bathroom, tearing the place apart thinking _maybe_ he took it off in his post-sleep daze before getting into the shower ( even though he’s never fucking done that in his life ). Then his room was next. Billy tore it apart too, starting at one side and ending at another, completely empty handed and terrified. He barely thought to put on underwear before he was outside, checking his car.

Nothing.

He remembered it dangling from his chest while he worked on his car. He remembered messing with it while uncomfortably standing around in Harrington’s house. He had it then, but there were fifteen hours _after that,_ that was unaccounted for.

Fifteen hours of no memories and now his necklace was gone. Fifteen hours of him doing _God only knows what_ and his necklace was _gone._ He must have lost it during that time, _had to have._ Luckily, he thinks ( pretending like his face wasn’t heating up and that he wasn’t two seconds away from a tear-filled panic attack ), most of those fifteen hours were probably spent with him passed out, which meant—

Which meant he needed to retrace his steps, starting from when he left Harrington’s.

 

\--

 

This time he decides to park at the Harrington household, not the Byers. He figures it’s safer since, from what Billy hears, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington are never home. He also knows Mrs. Byers has a job she’s constantly working doubles at, _but_ he’d rather not take the chance that today isn’t her day off. He parks the car and heads around the back, hopping the fence into Harrington’s fancy back yard. There was a chance his necklace could be in the house, but Billy figured he should check the woods first before breaking into someone’s home.

Trees all look the fucking same, but he does his best to retrace his steps. It was pretty much a straight shot from Harrington’s to Byers’, and it hadn’t snowed during the night so Billy at least had the weather on his side.

The not-so-lucky part is that he only remembers about half of his journey before everything goes blank. So, if he can’t find his necklace in that space of time he’ll literally just be guessing.

He was fucked. Really, Billy _knew_ he was fucked, but he was trying not to think about it, because if he thought about it he’d have a fucking breakdown and then _nothing_ would get accomplished.

_Pussy_ , his father’s voice supplies. _Upset over a piece of jewelry_.

Billy takes in a lungful of cold air, lets it freeze his lungs, and coughs it back out.

He should have grabbed his cigarettes.

 

\--

 

Billy has no watch, so he has no way of measuring time except for the sun in the sky, trying its best to pierce through the thick tree tops. Of course, Billy wasn’t some fucking boy scout so he didn’t know how to measure time by the fucking sun so that was useless information anyway. He just knows that he was searching for what felt like hours, combing the forest up and down, until he hears a twig snap behind him and twirls around.

“What the fuck are you doing out here, Hargrove?” Harrington asks, hands on his hips like some pissed off housewife.

Billy blinks. Once. Twice. Then goes, “What the fuck are _you_ doing out here, Harrington?” It’s a real good comeback. Billy feels real smart for it.

“You parked on my property and went into my woods—“ Billy considers telling him that he doesn’t own the fucking woods but decides against because, for all he knows, Harrington’s rich ass _does_ own the woods. Instead, he squares his jaw. “—at least that’s what I figured after I made sure you didn’t _break in_.”

“That was Plan B.” He says, like the concept was totally okay.

Harrington glowers. Billy suddenly feels tired all over again. “What the fuck are you doing out here?” He repeats, “Hunting demo-dogs or something? ‘Cause that’s a good way to get yourself killed—“

“No.” Billy grunts, and that’s all he does because he doesn’t owe Harrington anything, not even an explanation. “What time is it? School out already?”

Harrington stares at him like he’s crazy and goes, “It’s been like… a couple hours since school started, man.” And Billy’s sure that’s not possible because he’s been combing these woods for _at least_ three hours. “I came home to take a nap.”

“You skipping, pretty boy? That’s irresponsible.”

Brown eyes roll, “Says the guy who’s in the middle of the forest without even a fucking jacket on—“

_Huh_ , Bill thinks. He hadn’t realized he’d gone out without his jacket. He was pretty much allergic to Indiana weather so that surprised him just as much as it did Harrington. _Weird_. He must have been too distracted by his missing pendant to really give a shit about keeping warm.

Though, he didn’t actually _feel_ cold. In fact, he still felt kind of hot.

Maybe he had a fever again.

“Well, I got a good reason for being out here. You’re just nosy.” Harrington honest to God _guffaws_ , like some old man who can’t believe Billy’s speaking to him like he is, before he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You’re so annoying,” Harrington says, and Billy thinks, _yeah, you too_ , but doesn’t end up saying it because Harrington continues with, “whatever, do what you want, I’m going to sleep,” and turns to leave.

Billy, without thinking, ends up going, “Wait,” and then freezes as Harrington turns back around to fix him with a look that says _What_.  Billy takes a breath, bites at the inside of his cheek, and ignores the voice that tells him he doesn’t need any fucking help. “I lost my necklace yesterday I think and I can’t… I’m looking for it.”

Harrington stares at him for a few seconds then goes, “So? Can’t you just get another?” And Billy feels pretty stupid for even considering asking for his help in the first place.

“Nevermind,” he grunts, and turns away, focusing his gaze back on the forest floor. “I’ve got it.”

He expects Harrington to leave, to hear the sound of crunching twigs along with retreating footsteps, but he doesn’t, and when he looks up he sees the other boy a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket while he scans the ground. Billy opens his mouth to say something—thanks, maybe?—but thinks better of it and just goes back to looking.

He wasn’t exactly a _thank you_ kind of guy. He’d just remember this next time he wanted to beat Harrington’s ass.

 

\--

 

A real hour later— Harrington _actually_ has a watch—they find it. Well, Steve finds it. Billy’s checking around a tree he thinks is familiar despite it looking like every other fucking tree around him, when Harrington makes a little _aha_ sound. He turns around and sees the other holding his hand up toward him triumphantly, a chain hanging from his fingers, a pendant of the Virgin Mary right in the middle. Billy feels all the tension leave his body in a soft, relieved laugh.

“Shit, Harrington, I could kiss you.” He says it without thinking, and misses the way Harrington falters as Billy approaches.

Instead of commenting on it, Harrington goes, “This must mean a lot to you, huh?” As Billy reaches for it. “Didn’t know you were religious.”

“You don’t know a lot about me—“ He curls his fingers around the chain with the intent of taking it, but as soon as his skin touches the silver, burning pain racks through Billy’s entire body and he practically screams, dropping the necklace like it’s on fire while jerking back.

He’s cradling his hand and Harrington’s staring at him like he’s insane, “What the fuck?” He says, and then repeats himself when Billy opens his hand, revealing a burn across his palm where the chain had sat. “ _What the fuck_.”

It’s fucking excruciating, Billy’s shaking out his hand and swearing under his breath while Harrington bends down to pick the necklace back up. He opens his mouth as if to say, “Are you fucking crazy?” but nothing comes out because Harrington seems _fine_. He’s holding the necklace just as Billy had and it’s not burning him. He’s not screaming in pain, he’s not dropping it. He’s just staring at Billy with big, wide eyes.

“Touch it again.”

“Fuck you, I’m not touching it again.”

“Dude,” Harrington breathes, insistent. “Just. Touch it again.”

Billy’s mind screams _don’t_ but he reaches out anyway and brushes his fingers over the pendant. The pain returns, just as sharp and horrible as the first time. His fingers are red when he jerks them away, already promising to blister like after he grabs something out of the oven without oven mitts on. Swearing again, Billy crouches down to scoop up some melting snow in a vain effort to soothe the scorching ache.

“We need Hopper.” Harrington decides too loud, because he’s freaking out, then adds, “Or an exorcist.”

“You’re real fucking funny.” Billy snarls, holding his hand to his chest. “What I need is some balm and bandages, asshole. You got that?” And, look, he has no idea _what the fuck_ is going on, but after running from a bunch of mutated canines, his necklace burning him isn’t the weirdest fucking thing Billy’s experienced in twenty-four hours. He’s not going to freak out.

At least, he’s not going to freak out in front of Harrington. He’ll save it for when he’s alone behind a closed door.

Harrington just nods dumbly and goes, “Uh. Yeah… I’ll just… keep this,” and shoves the necklace into his pocket. “C’mon.”

 

\--

 

The balm Harrington has expired in 1981 and Billy looks at it with absolute distain from his spot on the counter. He’d planned to fix his hand by himself until Harrington, in his typical obvious manner, pointed out that it was kind of impossible for him to properly wrap up his burn with only one useable hand. So, as reluctantly as humanly possible, Billy gave in and climbed on top of the counter, held out his throbbing hand, and let Harrington take over.

“1981,” he repeats, making sure the disgust in his voice is evident. “Nineteen. Eighty. One.”

“Yeah, I heard you,” Steve grunts, delicately dabbing at the wound like he _cared_ if he hurt Billy. Like they were friends or lovers or some other bullshit that they definitely _weren’t_. “It’s not gonna’ kill you. Expiration on medicines just means it’s like… less effective.”

“ _Oh good_ ,” Billy says, not quite believing him. “It’s just less effective. Not like I need it to be effective or anything, it’s just my _hand_.” Harrington yanks his hand closer with a little more force than is necessary and Billy grunts. “It’s my left hand, too, Harrington. That’s my dominant hand. The hand I jerk off with—“ the disgusted look he gets for the comment spurs Billy on “—what will I do if I can’t jerk off anymore? I can’t just train my right hand after like seven years of uselessness.”

“…You’ve been jerking off since you were ten?”

“I don’t think that’s the point of what I was saying.”

“No no, I got your point.” Steve reaches past Billy to snag a kitchen towel and wipe the balm from his fingers before grabbing the bandages. “You’re real worried about your jerk off regimen when you _should_ be worried about the fact that The Virgin Fucking Mary burned your skin off.”

“Hey,” he snaps, “Watch your fucking language when talking about the Mother.”

Harrington stares at him like he’s crazy for a good six seconds then starts wrapping the bandage around his hand. “Whatever.” He’s clearly _not_ a religious dude, not that Billy was surprised. Rich people rarely were, and when they were it was that fake nicey-nice bullshit. They’d smile to your face, go “Praise Jesus,” then talk behind your back about how your daughter is a total slut because she wore spaghetti straps to school that one time.

“Too tight?”

“Huh?”

Billy blinks, Steve rolls his eyes. “The bandage. Is it too tight?” He paused halfway, Billy realizes, to check on his well-being. Billy frowns, feeling suddenly and incredibly uncomfortable with the situation. Not only is he not used to it, but this is _Harrington_ , the last person he ever expected to receive even a shred of kindness from.

He shrugs and mumbles, “’m good.”

They fall into a silence that lasts precisely seventeen seconds before Billy can’t take it anymore and goes, “You think I’m like a demon?” It’s Harrington’s turn to look like a confused idiot, hands pausing again as he looks up at him. “A holy symbol burned me, Harrington. That’s demon shit.” It’s a ludicrous fucking idea, but Billy’s one hundred percent serious and Harrington must pick up on that because he doesn’t mock him. 

“I don’t think you can just… become a demon. You were fine yesterday.” A pause, “Well not _fine_. You’re a total fucking asshole, but not like, _demon level_ asshole. Usually.”

“Oh thanks, real comfort.”

“I’m serious.” He’d gone back to his hand and now Harrington was finished. He takes a step back and Billy lifts his hand to judge the brunette’s work. Not bad. Billy was used to wrapping up his knuckles and shit with only one hand, so in comparison Harrington did a pretty nice job. Still hurt like a bitch though.

“Maybe you’re possessed,” Steve then suggests, and Billy looks at him like he’s said maybe the most horrifying thing someone could ever say.

“Like the Exorcist shit?” It wasn’t _impossible_. Billy, being the true Catholic he is, totally believed in that shit.

“Yeah.” Harrington heads to the fridge and Billy wants to say _this ain’t the time for a snack_ , but then he turns back around with a beer for each of them and Billy retracts that thought. A beer sounded fucking perfect. “You throw up lately? Uh. Got a voice in your head?”

Billy thinks of his father’s voice and goes, “No more than usual.”

Harrington eyes him like he said the creepiest thing possible and goes, “What about like… blacking out? Like have you lost any time lately?”

He stares at his can of beer. And stares. And _stares_. Harrington hit the nail right on the head, but Billy doesn’t exactly want to admit that, because admitting that is also admitting that something is wrong, _and sure_ , Billy knows something is wrong, but that doesn’t mean he wants to say that out loud to Harrington of all people. So, he cracks the can open, takes a swig and goes, “ _Nope_ ,” popping the “p”.

“Well,” Harrington’s looking at him like he doesn’t quite believe him, but he moves on. “Obviously it’s something, ‘cause necklaces just don’t _burn_ people. And it didn’t burn me—“

“—brag about it.”

“Shut up. It didn’t burn me, so it’s something with _you_.”

“You always state the obvious?”

Cue a very frustrated noise that Billy takes a little pride in like he _always_ does when he gets under Harrington’s skin. Long fingers comb through thick, chestnut hair and Billy finds himself drawn to the way Harrington’s eyebrows pull together, creating a wrinkle between them. Harrington’s eyes match his hair perfectly, Billy realizes, and then immediately hates himself for noticing that in the first place.

“Are you always an asshole?”

“Yeah,” he says it less like he’s proud of it and more like it’s just a fact. Harrington catches this but says nothing. “We good? I wanna’ get a nap in before I gotta’ pick the brat up.”

“Dude, you— _what_.” Harrington sounds fucking flabbergasted at the comment; those stupid eyes Billy had just been noticing wide and staring at him like he grew a second head. “You can’t just—“ he sputters, gestures vaguely and a little erratically, then settles on, “You can’t just _leave_ , Billy.” Oh no, the use of his first name. He means business. “You—something’s wrong. Let me call Hopper and—“

“And what? He’ll perform an exorcism? Is he a god damn priest on top of Chief of Police and Dad of Carrie?” Harrington opens his mouth to argue, but Billy continues, “Look it’s—it’s whatever. Whatever’s wrong I’ll figure it out. Thanks or the hand—“ he waves the bandaged limb, “—but I’m good. Just. Keep an eye on my necklace until then.”

He hops off the counter; Harrington goes, “ _Billy_.”

“Look. You wanna’ tell him? Go ahead, I can’t stop you. But ‘m not gonna’ wait around here for the second day in a row.” He’s already walking towards the door and Harrington’s stumbling to catch up. He reaches for Billy’s arm and Billy jerks it out of his way.

“Billy—“

“ _No_.” The word is firm. “You said it yourself yesterday, remember? _I don’t belong here_.” Harrington flinches when Billy tosses his words back at him and he thinks _good_. He thinks _that’s what you get_ , _asshole_. His dad’s voice says, he’s right, _you don’t belong anywhere_.

“You were right. I don’t belong here. Not in your house, not with your _freak squad_ , and not with _you_.”

“But if you’re possessed—“

“I ain’t possessed, Christ. None of that is real.”

He’s lying, he’s lying like he hadn’t _just_ freaked out at the idea of being possessed. Like he didn’t believe in ghosts, or demons, or angels, or God. Like he wasn’t terrified something was wrong with him, that his father was right, that he was just fucked up. Made wrong. “You just said—“

“I’m fine, Harrington.” Billy takes two steps back, turns, wrenches open the door, and heads down the steps and toward his car. He thinks he hears Harrington call his name again and just tosses up his hand in a half-assed wave before going “Thanks for the expired balm,” while getting into his car.

Billy makes sure he doesn’t look back as he peels out of the driveway.

 

\--

 

Billy sleeps. He sleeps and he dreams about Harrington. He dreams about those eyes and his matching hair, and the look on his face when Billy tossed his words back at him. He dreams of an alternate reality where he stayed. Where he stayed and they called Hopper and Harrington held his hand and said _it’s going to be okay, Billy_. He dreamed it _was_ okay, that he did belong somewhere. Anywhere.

Then he dreams about the woods. Harrington and Hopper are replaced by rotting trees, grotesque and dying right in front of his eyes. In fact, the whole forest looks like it’s dying, even the ground which almost seems to be _breathing_ underneath his feet. He’s cold, _freezing_ , and he simultaneously knows that he’s in the woods between the Byers’ and the Harrington’s, and that he’s lost.

He starts walking, then he starts running. Then roots rise up like they’re alive and grab at his ankles, tripping him up until he falls to his knees. He hits the dirt, digs his fingers into the living soil, and tries to crawl forward; tries to pull his feet from the roots’ grip and gets a face full of dirt when he falters and falls forward.

Something shining catches his eye and when he looks up Billy can see his necklace, not far off, glinting under the moonlight. Like a motherly voice in his head, it promises sanctuary. It promises forgiveness and asylum and _safety_ , so Billy crawls toward it. He crawls and stretches and _yanks_ until his fingers are almost brushing the chain. He curls them around it and pain rips through him, fire burning through his blood and coursing through his veins until Billy’s writhing from it.

Then he hears twigs snap and the forest whistle and the pain fades away. Billy opens his eyes, prone on his back, and realizes there’s a form standing over him. It’s hard to make out, hazy like a TV with a bad connection. Billy remembers this form, suddenly. He remembers seeing it once before, but it was in a forest that was alive under the light of the setting sun. The form had looked like his father before looking like nothing at all.

“Billy,” it says, even though it has no mouth to speak through. It repeats his name like praise echoing around him, _Billy Billy Billy_ , and holds out its hand towards him. “Take my hand,” it says, “let me in, I can help you.” Then its face slowly morphs, forming some blurry, mutated version of his father.

“Billy,” he says again, “take my hand, son.”

Somewhere far away a feminine voice screams _don’t take it_ , but Billy doesn’t hear her.

He takes the hand.

 

\--

 

It’s kind of ironic when you think about it. In his dream, Neil holds out his hand like he’s Billy’s personal savior. Like he’s going to lead Billy to the sacred land. When he grasps his hand its warm and comforting, nothing his father has ever been.

And this is all ironic because, the same hand that provides comfort in his dreams, yanks him out of bed in reality.

To be more specific, it yanks him out of bed by his hair, grasping curls at the roots and pulling until Billy’s falling onto the floor, groggy and confused. Someone’s yelling, but he’s too out of it to properly process them, going _huh?_ and _what?_ in a very smart kind of way.

As if echoing his thoughts, Billy hears his father go, “Are you stupid?” and finally he can make out the figure standing above him. Unlike in his dream, the only thing mutated about Neil Hargrove is the look of pure rage his face has contorted into. Absently, Billy thinks he hasn’t seen a look like that on his father’s face for a while.

He should have known better. It’d been too _good_.

“Get up,” Neil snarls, and reaches down, wrenching Billy up and to his feet by his shirt. He stumbles, feels weirdly hungover for having not had a drink, and Neil rights him before promptly slapping the fire out of him. Billy’s head snaps to the side and pain blooms across his face. His father just _bitch slapped_ him and he wishes he could say it was for the first time. “You know what time it is?” Neil snarls while Billy licks around his teeth to make sure there isn’t blood in his mouth.

“Obviously not,” he sighs, “But I think you’re going to tell me.”

“You and your fucking mouth—“ He’s got Billy by his shirt again then and he’s _shoving shoving shoving_ until Billy’s back hits his shelves. Honestly, he isn’t sure why he bothers putting anything on them at this point. “—seven p.m., Billy. It’s seven fucking p.m.”

_Oh shit_ , he thinks.

Except he must have said that out loud because Neil echoes him, “Oh shit is right,” and he’s so close that Billy’s pretty sure a few flecks of spit hit his cheek. He can smell garlic on his breath, probably left over from a late lunch. “Not only did you apparently skip school, but you left your sister there. She had to be dropped off by that Byers boy. Did you hear that, Billy? You were too busy getting wasted—“ he wants to argue that point, but doesn’t bother “—that your little sister had to get a ride with some _stranger_.”

“Byers is harmless,” he croaks, which makes Neil pull him forward, just to slam him back against the shelf again. Billy groans.

“And how do you know? You been hanging out with that queer?”

“Pretty sure he’s got a girlfriend.”

“And?” There’s some kind of dark humor in Neil’s voice when he asks it, and Billy knows that, whatever he’s about to say next, he’s walked right into. “It never stopped _you_.” Yeah, there it is. _Fair enough_ , he thinks. He’s not wrong.

Finally, though, Neil releases him, taking one step back before sighing heavily. “Every time I go through this with you, Billy. Every. Time.” _Christ here it comes_ , he thinks. “What have we talked about?” Billy doesn’t bother answering because—“Respect and responsibility,” Neil finishes. “For seventeen years that’s all I’ve tried to teach you, and for seventeen years you’ve fought me.”

Billy wants to laugh, so he does, weak and dry. It earns another slap.

Slaps are smart. He probably won’t bruise from a slap.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry.” It’s reflex at this point. Apologize, take the hits, move on.

“I don’t think sorry is good enough this time, boy.” And there’s a look in Neil’s eyes that makes Billy think he might die tonight, which is a little funny because the last time he thought that was when Neil caught him with a dick down his throat. Compared to that, getting murdered by his father because he _napped_ for too long was kind of fucking hilarious.

Billy closes his eyes, takes a breath, and then the front door opens and he hears Susan call—maybe a bit too loudly—“We’re home!”

Neil must have told her to take Max out for ice cream or some shit. He probably expected them to stay out longer.

Billy didn’t like Susan. He respected her because she was a mom, but as a person he hated her guts. Still, in that moment, he’s fucking grateful for her and the little red headed terror that’s with her, because at her call Neil falters. He falters, looks at Billy, and goes, “We’ll pick this up later,” before storming out of his room

He knows it’s delaying the inevitable. That as soon as they’re alone again his dad is going to lay into him like there’s no tomorrow. But, for now, he’s alright, and Billy will take that. He’s too tired to do anything else.

He’s also burning up, so Billy heads over to his window and opens it, ignoring the pounding in his head.

Like usual, he stays in his bedroom for the rest of the night, hiding out like the pussy his father thinks he is. Max’s curfew hits and he hears her go to bed. An hour and a half later, Billy hears Susan wish Neil goodnight and head to bed too. His father never goes to sleep before twelve, always up watching this or that until he can no longer keep his eyes open.

Billy’s head doesn’t stop hurting the entire time he waits. Pain pounds against his temple, constant and unrelenting. It makes him feel dizzy, unsorted, and he chalks it up to getting hit and thrown up against hard wood a couple times. Reading doesn’t help, Studying doesn’t help. So, he lights up a cigarette, strips down to his underwear, and lays flat on his back on his bed, staring up at the fan on his ceiling as it goes around and around.

Fuck his dad. He finds out his son has been passed out and unresponsive all day and instead of going _are you okay_ , he slaps him around. Not that Billy expected anything more from him. His mother would have asked. She would have cupped his chin and asked if he was alright and not taken yes as an answer until he broke down and told her the truth. Then she would have made it better, kissed his cheek, and Billy would apologize and _meant it_.

With his mother, he always meant it.

What a Saint like her ever saw in his piece of shit excuse for a father, Billy would never understand. She’d been a good woman, more than good. She never treated a person wrong, never lost her temper. She was _good._ To the fucking core. And now she was dead.

_Because of him_.

Yeah, Billy wasn’t stupid. Neil could blame him for his mother’s death all he wanted, but—call this a moment of clarity or some shit—he knew it wasn’t. He hadn’t been the one to yell at her every damn day. He hadn’t been the one to hit her or call her names. That’d been _Neil_.

_He’s a monster_.

He abused his wife, made her sick. He drove her to take her own life. He and he alone.

Billy’s mother died, but it should have been his father.

Neil Hargrove didn’t deserve to be alive. He hurt his wife, his son. It was only a matter of time before he started hurting his pretty new wife and her daughter too. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even a year from now, but he’d snap eventually and go after them just like he did Billy.

Billy thinks about those fucked up demon dogs and how he wishes one of them had gotten to Neil.

_He’d deserve it._

_The world would be better without him._

Hell, he didn’t need demo-dogs for it to happen. Billy could do it if he really tried. He was probably stronger than Neil now, gaining muscle while his father was getting older and weaker. Lazier. Like a lion who has grown too accustomed to being king. Too confident. Ready to be dethroned.

He had a few knives. The house was full of them, too. Neil had a gun hidden somewhere in his bedroom.

_It’d be easy_.

Take a knife, put it to his throat.

_Just like that_.

It’d be over.

_You could do it_.

He could do it.

_KillhimKillhimKillhim_.

“—Billy?”

The use of his name cuts through a veil of distracting thoughts Billy hadn’t even realized he was having. He blinks several times, as if he was waking up despite never falling asleep, and as he comes back to the real world he recognizes his father’s face.

He comprehends that he’s in the living room, the light of the TV illuminating the part of Neil’s face that isn’t covered up by Billy’s shadow. He’s not sure how he got in here, or what he was doing in here. Not until he realizes the look on his father’s face isn’t one he’s ever seen before. His eyes are wide, fear pulling at his features in a way that makes him seem younger and pathetic. They stand there, both frozen, as Billy’s eyes dip down to the cause of his father’s fear.

He’s holding a knife in his hand. _His_ knife. The one Billy keeps under his bed. To his father’s throat.

_What the fuck_.

Billy stumbles a couple steps back, his ass bumping into the TV. It rocks and he stares at Neil, who stares back in just as much shock as he’s in. Neil probably never expected his son to put a knife to his throat. Shit, Billy never expected his son to put a knife to his throat either. Billy wasn’t a killer. He was _a lot of things_ , but a killer wasn’t fucking one of them.

Or, at least, that’s what he thought.

All he’d been doing was thinking. Thinking like he does whenever he’s upset and scared. That’s all it’d been, except—

_That voice_. There’d been a voice encouraging him. The same voice that’d been talking to him all fucking day, a voice he’d chalked up to his own self-loathing taking up his father’s tone. In that moment, he hadn’t thought of the voice as his father’s, or even someone else’s. It’d sounded like him. It had sounded like Billy, but _wasn’t_.

Harrington’s words rung in his ears; _Maybe you’re possessed_.

He runs.

He’s not sure why, and it’s probably a bad idea, but Billy and his father just keep staring at each other, and Billy can feel panic building up in his stomach and trying to climb up through his throat and he’s not sure what to do so he just _runs._

He grabs his keys from the bowl by the door, drops the knife somewhere in the driveway when he’s fumbling to get the key in the lock and realizes he’s _still holding it_. Then he takes off, peeling out of the driveway and onto the late-night Hawkins streets like a bat out of hell.

It’s good there aren’t any cops around, because Billy breaks about six different traffic laws on his way. He slams on his breaks when he gets to where he’s going, and there’s absolutely no common sense left as he jogs up to the door. There’s only fear and panic. Fear that has him pounding on the door. Panic that has him going, “Harrington!” loud enough to wake the whole fucking neighborhood until the door is being wrenched open and a disheveled, half-sleep and angry Steve Harrington is staring back at him.

The anger on his face slips away as soon as he takes in Billy’s current state. He’s still in his underwear and nothing else, and his hair is a mess from how many times he carded his fingers through it while driving here, the bandages wrapped around it already peeling at the ends.

“Billy—“ Steve starts, but he doesn’t let him finish.

“I lied,” he chokes out, and it’s only until Billy hears his own words that he realizes he’s not on the edge of a panic attack, but already having one. “I’m not okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one) kudos to anyone who noticed the IT parallels in billy's last scene with his father.  
> two) there were ( not so subtle? ) hints through out the chapter that billy was indeed possessed.  
> one guess as to who has possessed him lmao.  
> three) catch me on tumblr @ drawacharge where i also write hcs and drabbles!!


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